


Deep Dark Valley

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: The arrival of a new baby should allow the Kepner-Averys’ lives to fall into place. When Jackson, April, baby Sailor, and preteen Holden - April’s daughter from a previous marriage - move into their historic home, everything seems wonderful.At first.With Jackson working full time, April often finds herself alone with both kids in the unfamiliar house. The hours are long and the days are dark. Soon, creaky floors sound less like settling and more like heavy, insistent footsteps.April becomes convinced that something is after her baby. With all the proof in front of her, she concludes that there’s a demonic presence infiltrating their home on Valley Point.
Relationships: Jackson Avery/April Kepner
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay it's pretty much official that I'll never stop writing fic... lmao!! I'm obsessed with horror movies, so I finally decided to combine my two loves - horror and Japril. This is my first shot ever at writing horror, so I'm basically learning as I go. I hope you guys enjoy and PLEASE LEAVE REVIEWS!

I hadn’t expected Sailor’s birth to be as difficult as it was. When I delivered Holden 12 years ago, it wasn’t as bad as everyone made it sound. She wanted to see the world so badly that she practically walked out of me. But Sailor was different. Worse, too, because I hadn’t seen the pain coming.

My first baby was a vaginal birth, just like I wanted. I planned the same for Sailor, but seeing as nothing else turned out how it was supposed to, it wasn’t a surprise that her delivery didn’t, either. They sliced me open and cut her out as I laid there, loopy beyond all hell. 

Before now, I’d never once been under the knife and I hope I never have to again. The healing process for this incision is pure torture. I can’t even get up the front steps of our new home by myself. 

Jackson has the baby carrier hanging over one elbow with his opposite hand supporting my weight. “There you go, you got it,” he says. 

“You coming, Holden?” I ask my twelve-year-old who’s walking behind us. She didn’t say much on the ride home and I wonder how she’s feeling. 

“Yeah,” she says once we’re inside. 

This is the first time I’m seeing our house on Valley Point. We put the deposit down a couple months ago, and Jackson has been coming here by himself to renovate on the weekends. He wanted to keep it a surprise, and has been so excited to unveil it. I wish I had the energy to be more excited. 

“Here it is!” he announces, making a sweeping gesture with one arm. “What do you think? Looks a lot different than it did in March, right?” 

“It really does,” I say, eyeing the couch. I need to sit down. My whole midsection aches with a pain I never knew possible. 

“Here, I wanna show you something. Holden, come look! You guys are gonna love this,” Jackson says, setting Sailor’s carrier down on the dining room floor. “She’s okay there, right?” he asks me.

“Yeah,” I say, following him slowly. I look over my shoulder and nod Holden along. “You wanna come see?’ 

“Not really,” she says, but trudges alongside me to the kitchen - where Jackson is practically bouncing with excitement. 

“Look,” he says. “A Smart Fridge!” 

I take a long look at the screen plastered on the front of our stainless steel refrigerator. It doesn’t really matter to me, but it’s clear that it matters to him. 

“It’s awesome, babe,” I say. 

“Want me to show you what it can do?” he asks. He looks at Holden. “This is why I asked you to come with me last week. I wanted you to see this!” 

Holden is quiet. She’s known Jackson her whole life - he and I were best friends before any of this happened - and she was always warm towards him. That is, until he and I started seeing each other romantically. Then, things changed. 

“It’s cool,” Holden says. 

“Baby... it is cool,” I say. “But can we check it out another time? I’m…” I press one hand to my stomach and grimace. 

“No, you’re right,” he says. “We should’ve gone straight upstairs!” 

…

Because I’m moving so slowly, it takes a while to get settled into mine and Jackson’s king-sized bed. But eventually, I sit propped up by a good amount of pillows, equipped with my laptop and burp cloths for when Sailor inevitably has to eat. 

Jackson left to answer his phone a few minutes ago, and I take advantage of the silence by laying my head back and closing my eyes. Even just shutting them feels like heaven. 

“Mom?” 

The sound of Holden’s voice in the doorway makes me sit up with a jolt. “You scared me,” I say, glancing down at Sailor. Her eyes are half-lidded and she’s somewhat conscious. Not sleeping but not awake, either. She’ll probably spend her first few days at home just like this. In fact, I probably will, too. 

“Sorry,” Holden says, walking over. She sits on the edge of the bed and watches her sister for a moment. “I have a question. And can you not get mad?” 

Holden prefacing a question with “don’t get mad” is never a good sign. That much, I’ve come to know. 

“I can try,” I say. 

“Can I please, please, please get a phone?” she asks. “I have nothing to do and none of my friends are here. I’m so bored, Mom. Please.” 

I give her a long, hard look. We’ve had this conversation too many times to count over the past 6 months. “The magic number is 13,” I say. “And that’s not for 6 more months. So, no, sweetie. Sorry. But think how awesome Christmas will be.” 

“I don’t _ care _ about Christmas,” she says, pouting now. “What am I even supposed to do without my friends? I can’t even talk to them.” 

“There’s plenty to do,” I say. “You can talk to me, help with the baby. There’s a huge yard out there. Tons of room to play.” 

“I’m not 5, Mom,” she grumbles. “I want something  _ fun  _ to do.” 

I sigh. Right now, I’m so far past tired that I can’t argue with her. 

“I’ll do some research tomorrow,” I say. “Look up a dance class or something, so you can meet kids your age.” 

“I don’t wanna dance, Mom, I want a phone,” she says, standing up. “Jackson would say yes.” 

“Well, Jackson isn’t your mom,” I say, looking at her through heavy eyelids. “I make the decisions when it comes to you.” 

“If he’s supposed to be my dad, shouldn’t you guys decide together?” she asks, testing me. 

“Holden,” I say. “The answer is no.”

“Fine. I’ll just be bored and lonely forever,” she says, then storms out of the room. 

Holden’s bedroom door slams and the sudden sound startles Sailor awake. Her tiny, tiny face pinches and her mouth opens wide, and the room becomes filled with the sound of her strained cry. 

I hold her close, tucking her face into my neck. It’s been so long since I’ve held something this small. I was a different person entirely when Holden was an infant, with a support system that looked nothing like the one I have now. 

“Everything okay?” Jackson asks, hurrying into the room. “Sorry. I got distracted putting away groceries. You need anything?” 

I smile to myself. Before, my partner wasn’t anything like this. 

Jackson and I have been best friends since childhood. We lived on opposite sides of the same cul-de-sac and spent every waking moment together in elementary school. We sported the same skinned knees, missing teeth, and wild freckles. Our teachers called us “The Wonder Twins.” 

We stayed close through middle and high school, too, but in a different way. In middle school, girls and boys get weird around each other and that was a phenomena we couldn’t avoid. I got made fun of for being flat-chested, and even though he was the only one who stood up for me, his face, neck, and ears flamed red every time he did so. 

In high school, I was in the marching band and he played football. I watched from the sidelines, quite literally, as he filtered through girlfriends. I couldn’t admit to myself then that the crush I had on him was practically killing me. I’m not sure I even recognized it. But I did make sure to find something wrong with each and every one of the girls he dated, and I always let him know in subtle ways. That passive-aggressive pining is something high school kids are so good at. 

Then, we got accepted to different colleges. We had once been inseparable, promising to follow each other anywhere. But he got a full ride to Ohio State, and I planned on heading to Georgetown with an all-encompassing academic scholarship. Neither of us could pass those opportunities up, so we didn’t. And we grew apart. It was nothing extraordinary or, really, unexpected. It just happened. 

Then, I met Matthew. Holden’s father. And we seemed to fit together just right. We were both raised religious, though he stuck to his beliefs much firmer than I did. It’s not that I didn’t believe - or that I don’t - but I learned that the bible can be interpreted in many different ways. He was never open to that conversation, but it was something I chose to look past. One of many. 

He and I were together for less than 12 months during my senior year of college. We became friends while I was a junior and he was a senior; he asked me out after he graduated. I said yes because I’d never had a real boyfriend, and I wanted stability. I still remember how good it felt to be wanted. 

Everyone preaches not to settle - that is, until you’re presented with the choice. I could choose between dating Matthew, who I could never love, or being alone. And I was tired of being alone. 

We were never married, which made it that much easier for him to disappear once Holden was born. And that’s exactly what he did. I called him when I went into labor, driven by my mom, and he didn’t pick up. My mom held my hand as I pushed Holden into the world, and stayed with me for both nights at the hospital. She helped me and the baby home once it was time to go, and stayed with us for three months - the three months that it took to accept that Matthew wasn’t coming back. He has never once laid eyes on his daughter, nor paid us a cent. 

Jackson is different. So different. He  _ wants  _ to spend time with us - me, Holden, and now Sailor. He met Holden at three years old, when she came with me to a class reunion. The two of them struck up a friendship instantly, which is why it breaks my heart to see their relationship splinter like it’s been doing lately. 

“I’m good,” I say, then pat the bed. “Come sit by me.” 

Carefully, Jackson lowers onto his side of the mattress and gazes at Sailor for a long moment. Then, he lifts his eyes to mine and breaks into a huge smile, saying, “Guess what? We made her.” 

“We did,” I say, stroking the soft bundle of swaddle blankets that she’s wrapped in. “You wanna hold her, Daddy?” 

At the hospital, I could barely get him to let her go. But now, he seems a little wary. I know exactly how he’s feeling. We’re at home, without nurses or lactation consultants. We have a little life that we’re completely responsible for. She depends on us for absolutely everything. 

I realize it shouldn’t blow my mind as much as it does, given Sailor isn’t my first infant. But with Holden, a lot of my amazement was overrun by fear. I was scared of hurting her, scared of doing something - or everything - wrong. I was all alone once my mom left, and so clueless. This time, I hope things will be different. 

“Show me how,” he says. 

I smile softly and say, “You know how. Support her head.” I shift Sailor from my arms to Jackson’s, then relax against the mountain of pillows. “There, see?” 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, we got this. We got this, me and the little captain.” He smirks and then looks up. “Get it? ‘Cause, her name is Sailor?” 

“I get it,” I say back.

“Yet you couldn’t spare a laugh,” he says, looking back to our daughter’s face. 

“I would’ve, had it deserved one,” I say lightly. 

I close my eyes for a moment until I feel Jackson’s fingers lace through mine. “How’s your incision?” he asks. 

I open my eyes and pare back the thick comforter, taking a deep breath before lifting up the hem of my t-shirt. “I think it’s okay,” I say, tracing the border of the bandage that covers it. “This should be changed tomorrow.” 

“I can help,” he says, then kisses my cheek. “I’ll be gentle.” 

“You’re always gentle,” I say, leaning to rest my head on his shoulder. Being close to him feels so good after all I’ve been through in the last few days. “That’s why I love you.” 

“But I’m still a he-man, right?” he says, gnashing his teeth for effect. I groan playfully and nudge him hard, getting him to stop. 

“Sure,” I say. “Whatever you want.” 

Sailor starts to whimper, letting me know she’s on the way to tears. “Is she hungry?” Jackson asks. 

“She might be,” I say, slowly sitting up straighter. “I’ll try and feed her.” 

He gingerly hands the baby over after I adjust my shirt, and I do my best to help her latch. I guide my nipple to her lips just like the consultant showed me, and luckily it doesn’t take long. Sailor’s eyes stay at half-mast while she eats, and Jackson rests a hand over where mine lays. 

“Look at her ears,” he says softly. “They’re moving.” 

I smile and see that he’s right. It reminds me of a very similar view from when Holden was little. “Holden’s used to do that, too,” I whisper, so I don’t startle Sailor. 

“You make tiny little Dumbo babies,” he says. 

“Pretty damn cute for Dumbo,” I say. 

“I think I put in most of the work there,” he says, then kisses my shoulder. “How do you think Holden’s taking all this?” 

“She wants a phone,” I say, stroking Sailor’s sparse hair. “I’m pretty sure that’s all that’s on her mind right now.”

Jackson pauses to think for a minute. “Do you think she feels excluded?” 

We talked about this - amongst ourselves and with Holden - before the baby was born. How our family unit would change, and how much attention Sailor would need in the beginning. We let Holden know that Sailor’s neediness didn’t mean we loved her any less.

“I’m not sure,” I say. “But she’s not getting a phone out of it.” 

“Why does it sound like you think I’m gonna give in?” he asks playfully.

“‘Cause you’re a pushover,” I say. “And you know it.”

“Yeah, I do,” he concedes, then sighs. “I just don’t want her to feel like...we upgraded, or something.” 

“I don’t want her to feel like that, either,” I say. 

“Tomorrow, we should talk to her.” 

“Okay,” I say, leaning back with the baby still latched and eating. “Tomorrow sounds great. Tomorrow, we can do anything. But right now…” 

I close my eyes and fall asleep with Sailor on my chest before I can even finish my sentence. 

…

A few days pass where we work on getting settled in the house. I’m not supposed to lift anything heavier than the baby, though, so I stand on the sidelines most of the time while Holden helps Jackson with empty bookcases, book boxes, and other miscellaneous items for the living room. 

“It’s looking really great, you guys,” I say, bringing them each a glass of cold lemonade. Jackson guzzles it in one gulp, while Holden takes it slower. “I feel like I should be helping.” 

“Mom, no,” Holden says. “Your scar will rip open.” 

She’s done some thawing out since we moved in. She’s not completely back to her pre-baby self, but we’re getting there. 

“Just light things, then,” I say. “Something light. Maybe some blankets?” 

“Babe, you’re fine,” Jackson says, lugging four empty dresser drawers from the foyer to the top of the stairs. With the open layout, I can still see him from where I stand by the front door. “We got it covered. Right, Hold?” 

“She can’t lift things, because of her scar,” Holden says, not answering his question.

Holden is a little wary of my scar because she walked in on Jackson changing my bandage the other night. The doctors prepared me for what it would look like - I knew it wouldn’t be pretty. And Jackson isn’t bothered by much of anything. Holden, on the other hand, went pale when she saw it. 

It takes 6 weeks to heal, and it’s only been 6 days. So, admittedly, right now it doesn’t look great. But I still don’t want her to worry. 

“You can just sit down, Mom,” Holden says. “Please. Sailor wants you to hold her.” 

“She might want you to,” I say, extending my arms a bit. Sailor has gotten better at keeping her eyes open, and she’s a remarkably quiet baby. Holden wasn’t colicky by any means, but she fussed much more than Sailor does. So far, my youngest is happy just watching the world go by - as long as she’s near me. 

“No,” Holden says. “She wants you.” 

She hasn’t held the baby yet. I offered at the hospital when Sailor was brand new, but Holden was too skittish. Now, she produces excuse after excuse. Jackson tells me not to push her, so I try not to. 

“You know, you can hold her whenever you want,” I say, stroking the baby’s back through the thin cloth of the sling that holds her to my chest. “Or you can wear her.” 

“I don’t really wanna wear the baby.” 

“Hey, who wants me to start dinner?” Jackson asks, coming up beside us to lead the way into the kitchen. “What sounds good?” 

I know he barged in to stop me from prodding at Holden. He always plays the mediator. 

“I don’t know,” Holden answers. 

“Okay. What sounds good to you, Mama?” Jackson asks. 

“Oof,” I say, gently lowering myself into the armchair that sits randomly in the kitchen. It hasn’t been moved into its rightful place yet, but I kind of like it here. “Enough spaghetti to feed an army. Like The Rock in  _ The Game Plan _ . That much spaghetti.” 

_ The Game Plan  _ is imprinted into my memory because it used to be Holden’s favorite movie. We watched it at least once a day, and I can quote it by heart. She can too, but it’s rare anymore that she will. 

“That means a lot of spaghetti,” Holden says, translating for Jackson. 

“Does that sound good to you?” he asks, and she nods with a shrug. “Alright. Italian it is.” 

I stay in the chair and nurse Sailor while Jackson putters around in the kitchen. Holden sits on the counter and doesn’t say much, but I’m glad she’s here. I don’t like it when she hides up in her room. It makes me feel so separate from her. 

“So, I gotta go back to work tomorrow,” Jackson says. 

He recently started a new job, which is the whole reason we moved. He felt like he couldn’t ask for much time off post-baby, and I told him he didn’t need to worry about it. But that was before Sailor was born and my anxiety was at a normal level. Now, the thought of being alone with the kids in this giant, echoey house terrifies me. 

I know it shouldn’t. I’m being irrational. But my hormones are still all out of whack; I’m allowed to be a little unreasonable. 

“Do you have to?” I ask. 

Holden looks up. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing that I am - that I really don’t want him to go. He’s the grounding force in our little family. 

“We agreed it would be best,” he says, turning around from where he stands at the oven. “I told my boss I’d be there. I only took a week off.” 

“I know, but…” I wave a hand and shake my head. “I’m being stupid. I’m sorry. Yes, of course it’s fine that you go back. It’s good. It’ll give us a little girl time.”

He smiles softly and asks, “Are you sure?” 

“We’ll be fine,” I say, convincing everyone who’s listening. 

The girls are so far apart in age that I’m already worried about how torn I’ll be. Up until now, I could depend on Jackson to find Holden something to do. Now, that’ll be up to me. 

I wouldn’t be daunted in the slightest - taking care of my daughter is second nature - if Sailor weren’t so tiny. By definition, as a newborn, she can’t function on her own. My eyes should never leave her, unless she’s sleeping. And in this big, old house, sometimes I even feel uneasy doing that. 

I’ll have to figure out a way to split my time between a preteen and a newborn. There will be adjustments. I take a look at Holden’s pretty face and she looks back at me with her green eyes, and I can’t help but feel warm. Of course, everything will be okay. I have time to spend with the two people in the world who I created.

…

The next morning, I’m sitting at the table cradling Sailor when Jackson hurries in. He’s wearing work clothes - something I haven’t seen him in for a while - and they make him look sharp and professional. 

“You look nice,” I say, taking a big bite of jelly toast. I had forgotten how hungry nursing makes me. 

“Why, thank you,” he says, bending a little further to kiss Sailor’s forehead. “Where’s big sis?” 

“Sleeping,” I say. “She’ll probably be out until 11, at least. She’s a preteen now, remember.” 

“Of course,” he says with a smile.

“Do you want breakfast?” I ask. I nudge my plate towards him, offering up the toast that’s left, even though I’m still hungry. 

“I’ll pick up something on the way,” he says, kissing me again. This time, he makes it count by tipping up my chin with one finger and pressing his lips to mine. We both pull away grinning. “I promise not to be home a minute after 5.” 

“Don’t worry, honey,” I say, watching him buzz around the kitchen to grab everything he needs. “We’ll be fine.” 

“Okay,” he says, snatching his keys. “Call if you need anything. Love you.” 

“Love you,” I say, then blow him a kiss as he heads to the garage. 

I listen for the sound of his car starting, then the garage door opening. I hear the car pull out, then the garage door shut. And after that, I’m left in complete silence. Unnerving silence, actually. 

I take a bite of toast and come to the conclusion that my chewing must be the loudest sound to ever grace the earth. I look down at Sailor, who’s staring at me with round, dark eyes, and thumb a few crumbs off her forehead. “Sorry, sweets,” I say, chuckling. “You might have to get used to that.” 

With the baby in tow, I put my dish in the sink and get the kettle ready for tea. I bounce Sailor and look out the window with her, talking as I go. 

“This sure is a big house for four people,” I say. “Doesn’t it seem huge?” Obviously, the baby doesn’t answer. “Of course it seems huge to you. You’re tiny.” I smile at my own words and kiss her forehead over and over. “We’re starting to get to know each other a little better, huh? Right, beautiful girl?” 

The kettle screams and I take it off the burner. After that, it’s quiet once again - only this time, I have tea.

“We need some music,” I tell Sailor, and shuffle a playlist filled with happy, peppy songs. 

Instantly, I feel better. 

“We can organize the baby cupboard,” I say, avoiding the dishes that I left in the sink. Washing them has to be my least favorite chore. “Get all your baby stuff in order. How does that sound? Sound fun?” Sailor, quiet as ever, stares while opening and closing her mouth. “No, it doesn’t sound fun to me, either,” I admit. “But at least it’ll pass the time.” 

I get the sling so I can hold the baby on my chest while removing bottles, the bottle cleaner, the pacifier stash, the first aid kit, my breast pump, and the bottle warmer. Once everything is on the counter, I raise my eyebrows and take a step back. 

“You’re not even two weeks old, and you have more stuff than I do,” I joke, smirking at Sailor. Sailor, who could not care less what I say. She just likes hearing me talk. “Do you think the breast pump really belongs in there? Because I don’t think I-” 

Interrupting my monologue, I hear Holden’s voice just under the chorus of Kelly Clarkson singing Since U Been Gone. 

“Mom?” 

“There’s your sister,” I say, then raise my voice over Kelly. “Yeah?” 

I wait, one hand flat over the curve of Sailor’s back. I get no response. 

“Holden, what?” 

It’s not even 9am, so I’m surprised she’s conscious. Maybe she didn’t sleep well last night. I know I didn’t. 

I wait and decide that she must have figured out whatever it was on her own. So, I go back to organizing baby items - only to hear her voice again. 

“Mom!” 

“Yes?” I call, a bit irritated. “Holden, I don’t really wanna yell across the house.” 

“Mom?” 

“Come downstairs!” I snap, leaning on the island. “Goodness gracious, Sailor. What’s she thinking?” 

“Mom…!?” 

“Good lord,” I say, shaking my head. “Is she on fire? If this is for a lost sock, I’m gonna lose it, Sai.” 

I trudge up the stairs, huffing and puffing once I get to the top, and head down the hall to Holden’s room. It’s the very last one on the right; I have no clue how I heard her voice so clearly from downstairs - especially over the music. 

“Holden, next time, can you please come downstairs instead of shouting the house down? There’s a better way to d-” 

I cut myself off mid-sentence because, when I open Holden’s door, I find her curled up and asleep in her bed. She’s sleeping like she always does, rolled in a ball with both hands tucked under her chin, her lips pushed out like she’s waiting for a kiss.

I stand there for a long moment, waiting for her to start laughing or open her eyes, but she doesn’t. She remains completely still, and her breath comes slowly. I watch her comforter rise and fall with its rhythm. She’s dead asleep, not even dreaming. 

“Well,” I say, turning around to shut the door. I look at the baby, but have nothing more to say. 

I’m lost in thought until I get back to the kitchen. Looking around, I can sense that something is wrong. Something  _ feels _ wrong.

Then I realize. The music has stopped, and the baby things have been put away. I can see them, perfectly organized, inside the glass-paned cabinet. 

I blink hard and exhale sharply. With my eyebrows knitted together, I survey the kitchen and find it much neater than I thought I left it. 

“Good god, Sailor,” I mutter, dragging my fingernails gently over the round of her back. “Your mom is losing it.” 

…

Later that night, I’m in Holden’s room as she gets ready for bed. She isn’t really interested in being tucked in anymore, but I still like to spend time with her before she goes to sleep. 

Her russet-colored hair is darkened from the shower, and brushed away from her face. Her freckles are on full display given that it’s summertime, and her face is free of any imperfections.

We didn’t see much of each other today. She stayed in her room, starting and finishing a book in just one day. She came down for lunch, but continued to read, and I let her. We all need to find our footing in this new environment, and she deserves space to do it. 

I sit on the bed with Sailor in my arms, cuddled in her sleep sack. She has a tiny pacifier in her mouth that’s oscillating slowly as she falls asleep, and her eyes pop open from their halfway position once Holden joins us on the bed. 

“How was your book?” I ask. 

Her face lights up at the mention of it. “Really good,” she says. “You gotta read it. Can we go to Target tomorrow so I can get book 2?” 

It was  _ The Hunger Games  _ that she was reading. “Sure,” I say. “That sounds fun.” 

“Cool,” she says, smiling. Then, she looks at Sailor. “We should’ve named her Primrose. That’s Katniss’s sister in the book.” 

“We could’ve called her ‘Prim,’” I say.

“That’s what Katniss calls her sister!” Holden says, still grinning. “She volunteers for her when Prim gets picked for the Games. It’s like this big, huge thing.” 

“That sounds intense,” I say. 

“It is. And Ayana said the other books are even more intense. That’s why I can’t wait to read them.” She pauses for a moment to look at the baby. “If Sailor got picked, I’d volunteer for her.” 

My chest floods with warmth. “You’re a good sister,” I say. 

With round, glassy eyes, Sailor blinks at her sister while still sucking away on the pacifier. “I think she’s listening,” Holden giggles. “She’s staring at me.” 

“Oh, she loves to stare,” I say in my baby voice. “And she loves to stare at you the most because you’re so pretty.” 

“Mom…” Holden groans, but a smile plays on her lips as she says it. 

“She’s in a good mood, if you wanna hold her,” I say. I had to try. Just once. I won’t push if she says no. 

But she doesn’t say no. 

“Okay,” Holden says, then holds her arms out in a rigid O shape. 

“Soften,” I whisper. “Don’t be nervous.”

“She’s so little,” Holden murmurs as I set Sailor into her arms. She molds her grip to the baby’s shape and soon settles into having her close. She looks at me, wearing a bemused smile with lit-up eyes, and laughs incredulously. “And so cute, Mom!” 

“I know,” I say, curled around one daughter as she holds the other. “See her little nose? That’s just what yours looked like when you were tiny.” 

Holden gazes at the baby, her eyes full of emotion, and traces Sailor’s nonexistent eyebrows. “Whoa,” she says, unable to stop grinning. “I can’t believe how light she is. And someday she’s gonna be as big as me.” 

“Yep,” I say.

“Mom,” Holden says, her voice growing serious. “Will people think it’s weird if I call Jackson ‘dad’? ‘Cause he’s not really my dad. He’s Sailor’s dad, and it’s pretty obvious because I don’t look like him, and she does get to look like him. And she’ll call him ‘dad,’ because duh… and, I don’t know, I just feel like it’s weird to always call him Jackson. But I don’t know if it’s actually weird to call him ‘dad.’”

I take a moment to study Holden’s profile, then I cover one of her hands with my own. I stroke her fingers, then kiss the side of her head. I say, “Nothing about a blended family is weird. You can call Jackson whatever you want. He’d say, just don’t call him late for dinner.”

Holden snorts. “He literally tells the worst jokes.” 

“That he does,” I say, then kiss her again. “But really, baby, if you feel like calling him ‘dad’ one day, then you should. But you don’t have to force it. Also, just because he looks like Sailor doesn’t mean he’s less of a father figure to you.” 

“But he helped make her,” she says. “And that’s not how it went with me.”

“You’re right,” I say. “But he loves you a lot. Just as much as he loves her. He’d be honored to know that you think of him like a dad.” 

She nods once, blinking rapidly while running her fingers through Sailor’s flyaway curls. “Don’t tell him yet, okay?” she asks. “I only want you to know.” 

“Sure,” I say, then take the baby when Holden hands her over. “Just between us, for now.” 

She lays down, getting comfortable on the pillow. She looks up with the duvet pulled to her chin, and smiles without showing teeth. “Night, Sailor,” she says, extending one arm to touch the bundle I’m holding. 

“Night, Sissy,” I make Sailor say, then squeeze Holden’s hand. “Night, honey. I love you. Big as the sky.”

“Big as the sky, Mom,” she says, then closes her eyes.

…

In bed that night with the baby asleep in the nursery, I let out a loud and dramatic sigh. 

“Long day?” Jackson asks, walking out of the bathroom while still flossing. When he’s done, he tosses the string in the garbage and climbs into bed beside me.

“It was fine,” I say, scooting close. “How was work?” 

“Monotonous,” he says. “All day, I kept wishing I was home. The only thing that got me through was my lock screen.”

His iPhone’s lock screen is a shot taken the morning after Sailor was born. I’m lying on a bed holding the baby, Holden is sandwiched in beside me, and Jackson has my feet on his lap. It’s our very first full family photo. 

“You’re so cute,” I say, feeling content as I close my eyes. 

“What did you guys get up to today?” 

I spend a moment thinking until the memory from this morning comes back. “Oh,” I say, propping myself up on an elbow. “Actually, this morning was super odd.” 

“Odd?” he prompts. “Like how?” 

“Just odd,” I say. “I was organizing the kitchen with Sailor when I could’ve  _ sworn _ I heard Holden call me from upstairs. Like, three or four times. I was listening to music and it was hard to hear, so I went upstairs. And when I got up here, she was fast asleep.” 

Jackson chuckles. “Sounds like she was pranking you.”

“No, she wasn’t,” I say, eyebrows furrowing. “She was completely asleep, I’m telling you.” 

“Huh,” he says. “Maybe there was something in the music that sounded like her.”

“Maybe,” I say, unconvinced. “But it was weirder when I came downstairs. Before I went up, I had everything laid out that I was organizing. And when I came back down, it was all put away.”

He looks at me pensively. “You’re sure you didn’t just forget doing it?” 

“I mean, I could’ve…” I say. “I don’t know. It was just off-putting. It scared me.”

“It was your first day alone,” he says, snuggling me closer. “The same thing probably would’ve happened to me.”

“It just felt…  _ wrong _ ,” I say. “Like something in the air felt different. Off. I don’t know, I’m not explaining it very well.” 

“Do you want me to check the house?” he asks, completely serious. This is why I love him. He always takes me seriously when the situation calls for it. 

“No, no,” I say, shaking my head. “Stay here. I’m okay. I just wanted to tell you.” 

“Keep me updated if anything else happens,” he says.

“Okay,” I say, my cheek squished against his chest. “You ready to go to sleep? I’m beat.” 

“I can get the baby when she cries,” he tells me. 

“Thanks,” I say, eyes already closing. “There’s breastmilk in the fridge.” 

I close my eyes and drift off almost instantly. So fast, that I don’t hear the bathroom faucets turn on - every single one in the house. The master bathroom, Holden’s bathroom, the one off the laundry room, and the one in the basement. 

In the morning, we wake up to sopping wet floors and no one knows why.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood.

“Mom!” 

In the very back of my mind, I hear my name being called. But I am so tired. Last night was the first night I slept for more than three hours since Sailor has been home, and I’m not ready to get up yet. 

“Mom?” 

Yesterday, I imagined Holden shouting for me at least five times in a row. It’s not unrealistic to chalk this up to a dream. I just need to sink a little deeper, and I’ll stop hearing it. 

“ _ Mom _ !” 

Beside me, Jackson sits up with a jolt and makes the mattress shudder. In turn, I gasp before I even open my eyes. “What, what?” I murmur, my brain foggy. 

“Holden,” he says, tossing the thick comforter away. “She’s calling you.” 

“I’m up,” I say, though that’s only true for my physical body. My mind has yet to catch up, but at least I’m moving. 

“Holden, you okay?” Jackson yells, moving faster than I’m able to. 

He comes to my side of the bed and helps me to my feet. Moving is especially hard in the mornings after being sedentary overnight. Everything is creakier, and my incision aches today. 

“There’s water everywhere!” she shouts, which doesn’t clear up the situation at all. 

I frown and follow Jackson into Holden’s room, where the giant puddle on the hardwood floor is impossible to miss. “What is going  _ on _ ?” I ask. 

“My sink was on when I woke up,” she says, standing on her bed to get away from the water. 

I look around and notice that the water has traveled far. The bottoms of numerous cardboard boxes are wet, along with discarded clothes. The feet of Holden’s bookshelf took a hit, along with the pegs of her dresser. 

I open my mouth to say something else, but then I hear it - the running water.

“Hold on,” I say, shuffling into the hall. I return to mine and Jackson’s room only to find that our bathroom sink is also turned on, which means the tile is submerged under an inch of water. Maybe more. 

“What the hell?” I mutter, my socks soaking wet. “Jackson, the-” 

I cut myself off because, even though I turned the faucet off, that sound persists. I follow it only to see that the sink in the downstairs bathroom has flooded and water is seeping all the way to the kitchen. Furthermore, the industrial sink in the basement has bubbled over - luckily, down there, the floor is cement. But we weren’t so fortunate everywhere else.

I stomp back up the basement stairs to stand in the kitchen, fuming. 

“Who did this?” I ask - my words directed at everyone and no one. Jackson and Holden appear at the foot of the stairs, and I turn to them with steam coming from my ears. “Someone must have… I don’t know, broken in and done this to mess with us!” 

“Babe, all the doors and windows are locked,” Jackson says, always so calm. “And we would have heard the alarm.’

“Then…” I sputter, searching for words. “There’s something wrong here. I  _ told  _ you something felt wrong.” 

“What do you mean, something wrong?” he asks. “I’m still working on stuff, you gotta give it some time. The pipes are old, that’s all. There’s nothing to worry about, April.” 

“The faucets can’t just turn on by themselves,” I say. “All of them? What are the odds of that happening?” I look at Holden. “Honey, if you left the water on last night, just tell me. Did you?” 

“I didn’t, Mom,” she says indignantly. “You were in my room. You saw.” 

“You might have gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom,” I say. “And then forgot.” 

“I didn’t get up once,” she says. “I didn’t touch the sinks, Mom.” 

“Babe, it’s the pipes,” Jackson says, placating us both. “Something probably burst. I’ll call the plumber on my way to the office and ask him to come look.” He glances around the room, then up at the ceiling. “I should probably stop and get a few new planks, too. But it’s alright. Nothing I can’t handle.” 

“Sure,” I say, exhausted already. I haven’t even been awake for thirty minutes. 

“I gotta get ready to go,” Jackson says gently. “Are you gonna be okay?” 

From the nursery, Sailor starts crying. Her “I’m-hungry-I’m-wet-someone-pick-me-up” cry. That’s my cue. 

“I’ll be fine,” I say, pushing past him and Holden. “The baby needs to eat.” 

…

I put Sailor in a motor-operated swing while I mop. I start in the master bathroom while Holden does hers - though she didn’t go without a fight. 

To top things off, Sailor is extra fussy today. All she wants is to be held, but I can’t exactly make that happen on my hands and knees, as I’m cleaning up the floor. So, she whines and squalls as the swing rocks back and forth, side to side. I try to move quickly so I can go comfort her, but my idea of quick isn’t the same as it used to be. 

Once the bathroom floor is mostly dry, I heave myself up and gather the baby in my arms. She had been staring at the hanging toys on her swing, eyes glassy with tiredness. She needs to nap. But she’s hungry, too, and she won’t sleep until she eats. 

Sailor cries on the way downstairs, demanding to be fed right this very second. Once I reach the dining room table, I sit down and nurse her, ignoring the fact that there are two more floors that need my attention. They’ll have to wait until the baby is sated, because they aren’t screaming in my ear like she is.

I snuggle Sailor while she eats, trying to take calming breaths that match hers. I keep my eyes on her fluttering ears and concentrate on how cute they are, trying to make myself smile.But it’s just not happening today. 

I close my eyes and stroke the shell of her ear, breathing so deeply that her little body rises and falls with the movement of my chest. Once she’s finished, she moves her head away and I readjust myself, muttering commentary as I go. “We gotta switch sides later, hungry hippo,” I say. “You made Mommy go lopsided.” 

With a tiny shudder, her face breaks out in a gassy smile.

“Oh, you think it’s funny, do ya?” I say, burping her. “Well… it’s lucky you’re so cute.” 

I bring Sailor upstairs, holding her against my chest as I look for a swaddler for naptime. Jackson put her clothes away last night, so they’re not organized in the slightest. I have to keep shifting Sailor’s weight around as I dig through tiny bits of fabric. 

“Hey, Mom. I’m done,” Holden says from the nursery doorway. 

I look up for a moment and release an exasperated sigh. “Good. Thanks, honey. Can you do me a favor and find her blue sleepy? I’m struggling here.” 

“Sure,” she says, and rummages through the drawer like I’d been doing - but luckily, she finds what I’m looking for. 

“Thank you,” I say, then lay Sailor on the changing table to make sure she’s in a clean diaper before I swaddle her.

“Why so tight?” Holden asks, watching as I lower the baby into the bassinet. “If my blanket was that tight, I would freak.” 

“It reminds her of when she was in my tummy,” I say, running one hand over the blanket. “It helps her sleep.” 

“Oh,” Holden says. “She sleeps a ton.” 

“Less than you’d think,” I say with a little laugh. 

We walk downstairs and I get the mop back out, ready to head to the basement. Holden eyes me like she wants to say something, but it takes her a while to get the words out.

“Mom,” she says, before I can leave. “Was it hard to… you know, have Sailor? Like labor and stuff?” 

I raise my eyebrows and sigh while considering my answer. If I told Holden that my birth process was all sunshine and butterflies, it wouldn’t be the truth. And I don’t like lying to her.

“Really hard, yeah,” I say. “Why?” 

She shrugs. “Because you seem different sometimes now.” 

That comment won’t leave me easily. Certain words have a way of sticking in my mind, and I have a feeling I’m going to remember Holden saying that for months - if not years - to come. 

“Oh,” I say. “Well… having a baby changes you. Physically, mentally… it’s an ordeal. And it’s messy. You know I’m still here for you, though, baby. Right?” 

“Yeah,” she says. “But you just seem like… not you.” 

I blink rapidly, trying to find a way to explain it all to a twelve-year-old that doesn’t understand bodily chemistry yet. “While I was pregnant and when Sailor came out, my hormones went all funky,” I say. “They’re still evening out right now. I need time to let that happen.”

“Is it scary?” she asks. 

“No…” I begin, then amend my statement. “Well, sometimes. After you give birth, thoughts pop into your head that don’t make sense. Scary thoughts, like all the different ways you could hurt your baby. All sorts of bad things that could happen to them - by your hand.” 

Holden’s eyes widen. “You think about that stuff?” 

I can see that she doesn’t understand; what I’m saying scares her. “No,” I lie. “No, no. Of course not.” 

“Oh,” she says, then chews the inside of her cheek while glancing inside a half-opened cardboard box on the kitchen floor. “There are pictures of you and Jackson in here,” she tells me. 

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. 

“Uh-huh,” she says, then kneels to pull one out. She lifts it up, and I see the two of us at thirteen years old, gangly arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, flashing our metal-mouth smiles. We got braces on the same day, at the same dentist, right when school got out that year. 

That summer, a lot of big things happened. I fell in the ravine and broke my arm in June, and Jackson’s grandpa died in August. Afterwards, in the middle of the night, we snuck into our treehouse because that was the only place he felt safe enough to cry. 

In July, at the height of the summer, we shared our first kiss.

“Nice braces,” Holden says, pointing to our teeth. 

“Yeah,” I say, chuckling. “A few weeks after this, we got them stuck together.” 

“Wait,” she says, pausing to think. “What?” 

I shake my head as I think back. “We wanted to see what kissing was like. We claimed that we didn’t like each other like that, that we didn’t even  _ want _ to kiss each other. We just wanted to get our first kisses out of the way. Yeah, right.” I laugh and smile bigger. “We were a mess. Lying to each other’s faces, saying we didn’t have a crush. But anyway, I kissed him. And it was fine - stiff, but fine. Then, he opened his mouth. Our braces got hooked together, and your grandma had to pry us apart. Me and Jackson couldn’t look each other in the eye for a good two weeks after that.” 

“Oh god, Mom,” Holden says, laughing. “Seriously?!” 

I set the photo on the counter, hoping to relive that memory with Jackson when he gets home. “Unfortunately and fortunately,” I say. “Yes. Seriously.” 

…

Holden, Sailor, and I eat lunch on the patio that afternoon. The sun is hot, but I slather sunscreen all over both girls and sit in the shade with the baby. After we finish eating, Holden shows off her cartwheels and back handsprings in the grass. 

It’s a nice moment. The nicest one all day, maybe even a few days. I try and soak it up the best I can - I memorize the winded smile on Holden’s face and the way her clothes from last year fit a little too tight. She’s growing. She’s doing just fine. 

By the time she gets to practicing one-handed cartwheels, it’s time for Sailor’s second nap. 

“Honey, I have to go put her down,” I tell Holden, patting the baby’s little butt as I stand. When I get to my feet, a wave of exhaustion hits me like a truck. “I might lay down for a few minutes while I’m upstairs. Don’t worry about cleaning up.” 

“‘Kay, Mom,” Holden shouts, attempting a flip and falling to her knees. 

“Please, be careful,” I say, walking up the back steps. 

“I wanna get super good, so when you finally buy me a phone, I can make a video,” she says cheekily. 

“Ha,” I say. “Okay. I’ll be upstairs.” 

I nurse Sailor for a few minutes, coaxing her eyes closed in the rocker. She falls asleep against my chest, so I consider forgoing the swaddler - but eventually decide to just do it. Earlier, I was reading about infants and the Moro reflex, which causes them to wake up more frequently if they’re not swaddled. And I need her to sleep. 

“Alright,” I murmur, laying the baby down to wrap her up. It’s not second nature yet, this burrito folding, but I’m getting there. Once she’s all tucked in, I smooth her hair, kiss her face, then set her in the crib. “Sweet dreams,” I say. 

Rubbing my eyes, I head to mine and Jackson’s room. The bed has never looked so inviting, and it feels better than sex when I close my eyes. 

I don’t necessarily mean to fall asleep. I just wanted to relax. But there’s no fighting my heavy eyelids once they decide to droop. 

…

_ When I wake up, I’m not in bed. I’m not anywhere in the house. I’m freezing, lying on a bare, metal operating table. I’m also completely naked.  _

_ I must be asleep, but this doesn’t feel like a dream. I can’t be awake right now, though. Hospital rooms don’t look like this.  _

_ My brain tells me that’s where I am. I’m in a hospital. I’m about to have a procedure done.  _

_ But there aren’t any wires attached to me. There’s no one here. I look down and see that my belly is giant, much bigger than it was even while I was pregnant, and it’s moving - like something huge is squirming underneath the skin.  _

_ I try to speak, but I can’t. I want to ask what’s going on, but I’m afraid to find out.  _

_ Then, someone who I can only assume is the doctor comes in. He’s wearing a scrub cap and a face mask, but he’s not walking.  _

_ No, he is. Extremely quickly. When I blink, he’s in a different part of the room. I can barely keep track of him.  _

_ He’s not moving the way a human moves.  _

_ “Excuse me,” I whimper, and my belly writhes harder, more insistently. I groan in pain, eyes rolling back as whatever’s inside me fights its way out.  _

_ It wants to break out through my skin.  _

_ “Mrs. Avery,” the doctor says. The words come in a hushed, drawn-out whisper. “Are you ready?”  _

_ “No,” I say, arching my back as what’s inside me fights and fights. “I want it out.”  _

_ “If you call it, it will come,” the doctor hisses. _

_ “What does that mean?” I cry. _

_ “Do you want it?” the doctor asks, nearing my face.  _

_ His eyes are black and shiny, two onyx marbles resting deep inside his skull. His pale face is riddled with veins that pump wildly beneath the waxy surface of his skin.  _

_ “I want it out!” I scream. _

_ “It’s coming,” he says.  _

_ He says, it says, the doctor says, I’m not sure anymore. I’m too concentrated on the blinding pain rippling through the very center of my body, the pain that tears me in two.  _

_ The doctor cuts me. He forces the scalpel deep into the skin of my belly and makes a long, ragged line from hip bone to hip bone. The laceration is deep, and he drags the blade in measured jolts, cutting an inch at a time until I hear a gurgled scream.  _

_ The doctor forces his hands inside the gaping hole in my stomach. I start to black out, the pain is too intense, absolutely unbearable, but I stay around just long enough to see that the creature pulled from my abdomen is nothing close to human.  _

…

I wake up drenched. My chest is heaving, heart hammering, and for a sickening moment I think I’m still on the operating table. 

But I’m not. I’m in bed, soaked in sweat.

I try to yank the sheet off, but when I sit up, pain ripples through my middle. Not like the dream, not quite that excruciating, but enough to make me cry out when the fabric sticks to something sticky on my skin. 

I pull it back to see that the bandage covering my incision is nowhere to be found, and I’m bleeding. The cut isn’t ripped wide open, but parts of it have been broken and there are bloodstains on the white bedclothes. 

“Oh no,” I sob, pressing both palms against what’s bleeding. “Oh no, no, no.” 

The baby starts howling from the nursery. It hurts to stand, but I have to get her. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but clearly it was too long. 

“I’m coming,” I moan, still holding my leaking middle with both hands.

As I stagger to the nursery, trying not to leave a trail of blood, the only thought running through my mind is  _ how did it come open _ ? 

I was dreaming. I had to be dreaming. Things like that don’t happen in real life. Things like that don’t  _ exist _ in real life. Yet my incision broke and my bandage is gone. 

The bandage must be buried somewhere in the bed. I was probably just acting out what happened in my dream; I was so afraid. It hurt so badly. 

When I get to the nursery, the dream leaves my mind instantly. 

Sailor isn’t in her crib. 

She’s lying in the middle of the hardwood floor without her swaddle blanket. As she wails and shivers, she beats the air with her tiny hands and feet, terrified and inconsolable. 

“Oh, baby,” I cry, falling to my knees. I pick her up and hold her against my chest, trying to warm her chilly body. “My baby. My baby.” 

Her cries vibrate her little chest. How long had she been on the floor? How did she get there? Where is her blanket?  _ How did she get on the floor? _

“Holden!” I shout, voice breaking.

I hear footsteps pounding the stairs before she appears in the hall. “Mom, wh-” She doesn’t finish her sentence. She just stares at me. 

She takes a step back and hits the wall, both hands braced behind her. Her eyes are wide with fear and all color has drained from her face. 

“Mom…” she says slowly, voice wavering. “What did you do?” 

I look down to see what Holden sees. Sailor, covered in blood and screeching. Me, crumpled on the floor like someone fallen off the deep end.

“Mom!” Holden shrieks. 

I had just been talking to her about scary thoughts that occur after the birth of a baby. How awful things pop into new mothers’ heads. I said I never experienced those types of thoughts. She doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me. 

“It’s not her blood,” I sob, still holding Sailor close and tight. “My incision, it came open while I was sleeping. It’s not her blood, Holden. It’s mine. It’s mine.” 

The baby starts to warm up, but her cries don’t lessen. With her arms and legs splayed like a little spider, she continues to scream with her face pressed against my neck. 

“Holden, believe me!” I shout, then lift my shirt to expose the wound. “Please!” 

Before she can respond, more footsteps thunder up the stairs and Jackson appears next to my daughter. She turns to him, full of relief, and falls into his open arms. 

“What the hell is going on?” he asks frantically. 

“Help her. Dad, help her!” Holden cries. 

It’s an awful memory to tie to the first time she calls Jackson “dad.” 

…

Jackson cleans Sailor in her tiny baby bath while I rinse off in the shower. When I come out, shaken and forlorn, he’s waiting on the bed with Sailor, who’s wearing a soft sleep sack and a little purple hat. 

I don’t know what to say. I want to know what he’s thinking only if he doesn’t think I’m a lunatic.

“Come here,” he says. “Let’s get that incision taken care of.” 

I nod and slip on a pair of panties under one of his shirts, shuffling over to the bed without lifting my feet. I barely have the energy to walk at all. 

I lean against the pillows and take the baby when he offers her. He must have fed her, warmed up the breastmilk in the fridge, because she’s happy. Blinking those big eyes and grabbing onto my chin like we didn’t just have a traumatic experience. 

“I’m gonna clean it,” Jackson says, lifting the hem of the shirt. I hold Sailor high enough to keep her feet out of the way, and watch him do what he does so well. Take care of me. “This might sting. It’s hydrogen peroxide. I just want to make sure it’s disinfected.” 

He dabs at the wound with a cotton ball, and it does sting. But I don’t make a fuss. The pain of breaking it open was much worse, as was the pain in the nightmare. 

“How did this happen, baby?” he asks, eyes on his working fingers. 

I won’t tell him about the dream. Firstly, I don’t want him to think I’m coming undone, and secondly, I don’t want to relive it. 

“I must have been scratching in my sleep,” I say. 

“You were scratching pretty damn hard,” he says, smoothing a warm, wet washcloth over it. “But it looks worse than it is. It’s nothing that won’t heal in a couple days.” He reaches for the bandage and puts it on gently, then kisses Sailor’s head. “Right, beautiful?” 

Once the wound is dressed, Jackson pulls the shirt back down and takes my hand. It feels too ceremonious, not casual at all. He’s gearing up to say something, though I wish he wouldn’t. 

“April, what happened today?” he asks. 

I swallow hard and rub the baby’s back, listening to her coo softly in my ear. I use those sweet sounds to ground myself. 

“I woke up, and I was bleeding,” I say. “She was crying. I went to the nursery, and she was in the middle of the floor. Screaming. Shaking. She was freezing cold. Her swaddler was gone. Did you find it?” 

He shakes his head and looks at me solemnly. “You’re sure you laid her down in the crib?” 

“No, Jackson, I laid her on the floor. I thought that’d be best,” I snap, glaring at him. 

“I’m just asking,” he says, lifting both hands, palms up. “Don’t bite my head off.” 

“Of course I put her in the crib. I wrapped her up and laid her down like I do every day.” 

“Okay,” he says, but his voice is too accommodating. It’s patronizing. “I hear you.” 

“It wasn’t me, Jackson,” I say. “I didn’t take her out. I didn’t sleepwalk. The only other option is one I really don’t wanna consider. But who else could it have been? Sailor didn’t get out by herself.” 

He pauses for a long time, considering, before looking at me with a heavy expression. “You think Holden did it?” he says. 

I can’t meet his eyes. I’m not proud to blame my other daughter, but what else could have happened? Sailor can’t walk. She definitely can’t fly. There’s no way she got out of that crib on her own. 

“She must have wanted attention,” I mutter. “It’s all I can think of.” 

Neither of us speaks for a while, letting my words simmer. 

“But really, doing something like that? It doesn’t seem like her,” Jackson says. 

“She’s going through a lot,” I say. “It’s not like she hurt the baby. She’s just acting out.” 

I shake my head, thinking back on the nice afternoon the three of us had. It really was an easy, lovely day. What prompted Holden to do something so out of character? 

“I need to talk to her,” I say, starting to get up.

“You’re not going anywhere with your stomach the way it is,” Jackson says. “I’ll go get her.” 

I wait, staring at the ceiling while cuddling Sailor. In my heart of hearts, I can’t see Holden doing something as awful as taking the baby out of her crib and leaving her on the cold, hard floor. Even when she’s angry, her kindness is never far away. I’ve never known her to be mean-spirited. 

But who else could it have been? Holden is the only answer. Holden is the only suspect that makes sense. 

A few moments later, Holden walks in with her arms crossed, eyes downcast. Jackson comes in behind her, inching past her shoulders to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Holden,” I say. 

“Mom,” she says, lifting her head. When she does, her eyes are bloodshot. “It wasn’t me.” 

Either Jackson primed her, or she just knows me that well. Either of those options are viable. 

“You’re not in trouble,” I tell her, but second-guess myself. 

_ Should  _ she be in trouble? She could have hurt Sailor. I imagine her fumbling while taking the baby out and Sailor’s small body hurtling to the floor. I imagine the baby with the swaddler over her face, suffocating to death. I imagine the baby’s temperature falling and making her seriously ill. I don’t know how realistic those situations are, but that doesn’t stop them from rocketing through my head. 

Even so, I continue. 

“I don’t want you to lie,” I say. 

“I’m not lying!” she insists, arms rigid at her sides. “I didn’t take the baby out. I would never do that.” 

I want to believe her so badly. There’s never been a time in Holden’s life where I didn’t believe her. The fact that I’m accusing her of something so malicious makes me feel sick. 

She’s my daughter. I have an allegiance to her, along with an innate trust. But I also have an allegiance to Sailor. And I can’t let Holden think that what she did - what she  _ had  _ to have done - is okay. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whines, eyes watery. “Stop looking at me like that!” 

“Honey, I promise, you’re not in trouble. I just want the truth. If you took Sailor out of her crib, okay. It was wrong, but we can work through it.”

“Stop talking to me like that,” Holden says. “You don’t sound like you. Ever since she came, you’re so… you’re not you anymore!” 

“Holden,” I say, practically pleading. “All I want is to understand-” 

“You _ don’t _ understand,” she growls. “If you understood, you’d know that I would never do something awful like rip Sailor out of her crib. Why would I want to hurt her? You want to hurt her! You were the one covered in blood.” 

“Don’t say things like that,” I bark. “I would never hurt either of you. Ever. Never say that again.” 

She looks at me with hooded eyes, jaw set, chest heaving. She refuses to give in, and I don’t know how to navigate the rest of this conversation. 

Luckily, Jackson steps in just when I need him to. 

“I think tension got a little high today,” he says softly, placating the energy in the room. “With the new baby and the new house, wires are gonna get crossed. We’re gonna fight. And you know what? That is A-okay. Because we’re a family. And families get through shit.” 

I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. I’m not sure how well it works. 

“Holden, whether or not you took Sailor out of-” 

“I didn’t,” she says firmly, fists clenched.

“Okay,” he says. “Then let’s put it in the past. It happened, and it’s over. Mom’s incision broke, but I cleaned it and covered it again. The baby is fine. Holden is fine. I’m fine, Mom’s fine. We’re all here and in one piece, right?” 

None of us answer. I don’t think he really expected us to. 

“I’m gonna stay home tomorrow,” he says. “Play Mr. Mom for a while. Not sure how I’m gonna breastfeed, but crazier shit has happened. So, what the hell?” 

He laughs, and both Holden and I crack a smile. We can’t help it. 

“And you,” he says, pointing to my older daughter. “I’m gonna take you to the field in the pickup. And I’m gonna teach you how to drive. Just you and me.”

Holden thinks it over, chewing her lower lip with thoughtful intensity. When she raises her eyes to look at Jackson’s face, they’re shimmering with something that might be happiness. 

“Yeah,” she says. “I want to.” 

“Alright,” he says, then waves her over. For him, she comes. 

“I don’t wanna go to bed angry,” I say, taking Holden’s hand. “I’m sorry for accusing you.” 

It’s a difficult apology, because she had to have done it. But she is adamant on the fact that she didn’t. Unless I’m the one to give in, we’ll be at a stalemate forever. And I don’t want that.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” she says. 

She comes in for a hug and I kiss her forehead, then cup her jaw in one hand. “I love you,” I say, looking right into her mossy green eyes. “Big as the sky.” 

She gives me a crooked smile, the right side lifting a little higher than the left. “Big as the sky, Mom.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**JACKSON**

April’s legs must have gotten extra strong since having a baby, because the heavy comforter is bunched in a heap on the floor when I wake up. I’ve known her to kick in her sleep, but the blanket has never flown completely off the bed. No wonder I wake up freezing. 

I wonder how long we’ve been uncovered. When I lay a hand on her shoulder, it’s cold as ice, so I make quick work of putting the comforter back. As for me, I plan on heading to the nursery before Sailor starts crying. Once that happens, April will wake up instantly - and she deserves to sleep today. 

I settle the blue blanket over April’s body, tucking in the sides so she’s extra snug. I smile to myself as I watch her placid face, then press a kiss to her forehead. 

She stirs, rolling to look at me through slitted eyes. “Hmm?” she murmurs. 

“Go back to sleep,” I whisper, stroking her hair. “It’s my turn with the baby.”

“Mmm… okay,” she replies, and turns back onto her side. 

With a smile, I head to the nursery with the baby monitor in my pocket. I’ve only just begun to hear Sailor fussing, which means I’m right on time. 

I open the heavy wooden door and turn up the light. Not all the way - I don’t want to hurt her eyes - just so there’s a nice, yellow glow in the room. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” I say, looking into the crib. 

Sailor stares up at me with wide, sapphire eyes. If I were to put words to her expression, they would be something along the lines of, “ _ Where the hell is my mom? _ ” 

I laugh to myself thinking that, then reach to grab her. “Hey, stinker,” I say, knowing she needs a diaper change. “How’s my first mate? Did you sleep good? I heard you up with Mama a few hours ago.” I lay the baby on the changing table, unsnap her sleep sack, and recoil from the smell that emerges. “Jesus Christ, child,” I say, eyes watering. “What is she feeding you?” 

I change her diaper as fast as I can and throw the offensive one in the diaper genie - something I didn’t understand before now. Now, I think it’s probably the best invention known to man. 

“Alright, let’s get you some breakfast,” I say, cradling Sailor as we head out of the nursery. “There’s some of Mama’s milk in the fridge. We just have to heat that up… on the stove, not in the microwave, and you should be all set.” I smile at my daughter. “Sound good?” 

Her eyebrows furrow as she blinks at me, opening and closing her mouth at random. I decide to take that as an affirmative answer. 

I open the fridge, keeping the baby steady in the crook of my elbow, and look on the second shelf for the milk supply that April always leaves. But there’s nothing there. The shelf is empty. 

“Wait,” I say, bending at the knees to look lower. “This is where Mama keeps it, right?” 

Sailor responds in the form of a persistent-sounding grunt. I can’t help but wonder if she’s pooping again, though I don’t know how in the world that tiny body could produce anything more without breakfast. 

“Don’t poop,” I say. “I’m beggin’ ya, Captain. Hold it.” 

I stand up again and check everywhere I can think of. The vegetable crisper, the butter slot, the racks in the door. But the little bottles full of breastmilk are nowhere to be found. There’s nothing in the freezer, either. 

Sailor must sense my frustration, because she starts to cry. It starts out as a small whine and then grows into something that makes me lean away to save my eardrums. 

“Alright, alright,” I say. “I guess we gotta go get her up.” 

I didn’t want to do this; I wanted to let April sleep. She needs it. She’s had bags under her eyes since the day we brought Sailor home. But the baby has to eat. I don’t have another choice. 

April is rubbing her eyes when I walk into our bedroom. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep. “Why’s she crying?” 

“She’s hungry, and there’s no milk in the fridge,” I say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna wake you.” 

“S’fine,” April says, moving slowly with her eyes only half-open. 

She takes her shirt off with zero abandon and waves the baby over, helping Sailor latch as soon as they’re skin-to-skin. It’s only then that the baby quiets and starts drinking like she’s never had April’s nipple before in her life. 

April leans her head back and closes her eyes, keeping two steadying hands on the baby. “I was just walking down this long hallway,” she says, eyes still shut. “And the walls were pulsing.” 

“Uh-huh…” I say, figuring she’s describing a dream. She doesn’t seem quite aware that she is, but that’s fine. I’ll let her go back to bed after Sailor is finished. 

“There were veins on the wall,” she says. “They were hard. I snapped one off and blood came gushing out. It was all over me.” 

She takes one hand off the baby and touches her face. She’s feeling for blood. “It was a dream, babe,” I tell her, gently lowering her wrist. “You were just dreaming. We woke you up out of it.” I pause for a moment before saying, “It sounds like it was scary.” 

“They’re always scary,” she says, and her breath begins to come deeper. 

Before I know it, she’s asleep with Sailor still attached to her chest. I think it’s fine, as long as I’m here to supervise. It’s clear April isn’t getting the rest she needs. Between the crying newborn and incessant nightmares, it’s no wonder she’s exhausted. 

After a while, I watch Sailor’s body relax against April’s chest, and she seems much more peaceful. I crane my neck as she hiccups, and see that she burped a little milk back onto April’s nipple - and that usually means she’s done. 

“Alright, you,” I say, gently sticking one finger in her mouth so she detaches. She fights me a little - she doesn’t want to leave the warmth of her mama’s skin - but eventually slackens in my arms the same way she’d been in April’s. 

When I finally get Sailor to burp, I remember too late that I forgot to put a cloth down. That means I have a trail of white spit-up pooled on my shoulder and dripping down my back, but a very satisfied baby in my arms. 

“Lovely,” I say, glancing at the stain. “Thank you for that.” 

I lay Sailor on the bed while I help April back into her shirt. I don’t want her to get cold. I get her settled under the covers again, and she touches the side of my face while saying, “Don’t forget tummy time.” She can’t even muster the energy to open her eyes.

“I won’t,” I say, then kiss her parted lips. “Night, Mama.” 

I quickly change shirts and head downstairs once again with the baby - only this time, she’s considerably happier. 

“Tummy time,” I say, eyeing the rug set out in the living room meant specifically for Sailor. “You gotta learn how to hold up this big-ass head,” I say, tapping her lumpy skull. “Sorry about that.”

She fixates on me, tongue and lips moving like she has so much to say. I can’t help but smile at her. She’s an awesome little creature. A little creature that me and April made, all on our own. It’s so fucking wild and cool. 

“There you go,” I say, setting the baby on her belly on the rug. I sit down, elbows on my knees, and watch her. “What’re you supposed to do now?” I ask. 

She doesn’t seem to know, either. She’s not very good at holding up her head at all, but I didn’t expect her to be. She’s only three weeks old. I didn’t even realize babies  _ had  _ neck muscles at three weeks old. But I also don’t want her to have a flat spot on the back of her head, which can happen if she’s on her back too much. I’ve only read that in every baby book that April’s left in the bathroom, on her nightstand, or on the kitchen counter. So, tummy time it is. 

Sailor has been on her belly for about five minutes when we hear a loud thud from the basement. It makes us both jump. But, luckily, I don’t start crying like she does. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, gently picking her up. “Tummy time was tough today anyway. We’ll try again tomorrow.” I kiss the side of her head and get closer to the basement stairs, wondering what could have made that sound. And as I’m glancing down the stairs, we hear it again.

Being close to me has stopped Sailor’s crying, and I’m too curious to let that sound slide. So, I head down the steps with the baby in tow, dreading whatever it is that I’ll probably have to fix. 

The basement is dry, unlike a lot of old houses that are known for being leaky and damp. It’s unfinished, it won’t be a comfortable space for a while, but at least it’s good for storage. That’s what we’re using it for right now. It’s lined with boxes and shelves full of things we don’t have spots for yet. 

As I survey the room, Sailor tucked close to my chest, the only thing I notice that’s out of place is the small bookshelf that used to be filled with photo albums. I had them lined up nicely on all three shelves as of two days ago, but now they’re strewn all over the floor. The shelf itself still stands upright, which is puzzling, so I’m not sure what caused the albums to fall. 

Either way, I walk over and carefully lower to the cool floor, sitting cross-legged while gathering them with one hand. As I fill the shelves, one slips and falls open to a middle page, one that’s full of mine and April’s young, smiling faces. 

I study it for a long moment, smiling. “Look, Sai,” I say, using my free hand to point to a photo of me and April before our senior prom.

April is wearing a strapless green dress, her hair in a bouncy updo, and I have on a tux that’s noticeably too big. Our smiles are strained, nervous, but I focus on our matching corsage and boutonniere instead.. I had worked myself up to a panic preparing to give her that little bundle of flowers, and showing her the ones I had that matched. At the time, I was sure she’d think I did too much. But I had to do it. She was my date - my friend date. I had wanted to ask her to the dance as a date-date, but I lost my nerve at the last minute.

I wanted her to know that I liked her, but I didn’t at the same time. Having that secret come out was my worst nightmare. But simultaneously, there was no better daydream than the one where April was my girlfriend. 

“This is me and your mom before our prom,” I say, looking between the photo and the baby’s face. “Doesn’t she look pretty?” 

Sailor blinks, completely unamused. That’s okay; this is for me, anyway. I haven’t seen this picture in forever. 

“We didn’t talk about this night for a long time after it happened,” I say, eyes still on the picture. “For years. It scared the shit out of us.” I chuckle softly. “But it was the best night of my life.” 

I never told anyone that I lost my virginity to her that night. Everyone - every single one of my buddies - thought it had been gone for years. Since ninth grade, probably. But it wasn’t. I had gone to first base with some girls, second with others, but I had never gone all the way. It wasn’t that I had anything morally against it, I just didn’t feel for anyone else what I felt for April. 

I’d had a crush on her since I was old enough to know what a crush was. But I never thought she felt the same way in return. She treated me like a brother. I didn’t want to weird her out. I protected her with every ounce of my being. I promised myself that I would never be someone who hurt her. 

So, that night, when  _ she _ came onto  _ me _ , my world turned upside down in the best way. 

We were both sober. April’s family really disapproved of alcohol, and she wasn’t one to disobey. So, out of solidarity, I didn’t drink either. We were both sober and in the back of my brand new SUV when it happened. 

_ She’s not wearing that green dress anymore. Now, she’s in a cotton slip of a thing, hair loose around her shoulders instead of tied up. On the plus side, I love the way she smells. But I did like seeing her shoulders and collarbones before.  _

_ She drove me crazy all night. I was obsessed with the way she moved. How she looked when she laughed, even the way her throat bobbed when she drank that nasty-ass punch. I couldn’t stop staring at her, and now I really can’t.  _

_ It doesn’t help that I’m blabbering at her like an idiot, either.  _

_ “Did you have fun tonight? I did. It was alright,” I say. My mouth is so dry. I would kill for some water, but I don’t want to drive somewhere to get it, because that would mean leaving the back seat. I’m not really sure what made us both get back here together, something about getting away from the post-prom noise, but I don’t want it to end any sooner than it has to.  _

_ “Yeah, it was fun,” she says quietly. There’s a small smile on her face and I swear I’ve never seen her skin look softer. I want to touch her. I can’t stop thinking about her body. Stupid, stupid, stupid hormones and my even stupider heart. I hate this. Maybe I should get in the front seat so I can stop duking it out with my thoughts.  _

_ But I don’t move.  _

_ “Did you like the music?” I ask. “I could’ve used more Nelly, but that’s just me.”  _

_ “I liked when they played Calling All Angels,” she says. That’s her favorite song in the world. We danced together for it - slow. It was the first slow dance I ever had with her and the first one that ever meant something to me.  _

_ “Yeah,” I say, grinning. “I liked that, too.”  _

_ She sits quietly after that and I keep yammering. Our roles are reversed tonight, but I can’t help it. I can’t shut up. I don’t know why she’s so reserved; I’m apparently doing enough yapping for the both of us.  _

_ “I think mostly everyone left now,” I say, gesturing towards the school. We had the dance in the gym. It would’ve been lame any other year, but this year, April was on the prom committee and she helped decorate, so it was awesome. I told her so a million times.  _

_ “Probably,” she says. “I heard a lot of people talking about hotel rooms they got. They’re probably all there.”  _

_ “Oh, damn, really?” I say, then scoff loudly for effect. I want her to know that she and I are on the same page. “Couldn’t be me. I don’t know why everyone thinks they gotta go bang it out after prom. It’s not a requirement.”  _

_ She looks at me strangely, her eyes big and doleful.  _

_ “What?” I say, face heating up. I’m glad it’s dark in here so she can’t tell.  _

_ “I don’t know,” she says. “It’s almost like… a rite of passage. It seems special. You’re telling me that  _ you,  _ Jackson Harper Avery, wouldn’t sleep with a girl after prom?”  _

_ I chew the inside of my cheek, brows furrowed. “Not if she wasn’t into it,” I say.  _

_ “Well…” April trails off, eyes on her lap. “What if she was?”  _

_ I swallow hard, eyes trained on the way her hair falls over her shoulders. “Then… I would want to,” I say.  _

_ “So would I,” she whispers, then lifts her eyes. “How would you start?”  _

_ My breath comes faster, wondering if we’re really doing what I think we’re doing. What my penis  _ definitely  _ thinks we’re doing.  _

_ “I would…” I say. “Pull her onto my lap.”  _

_ We lock eyes, gauging each other’s next move. I raise my eyebrows in question, and she nods - minutely, just enough. So, I follow through.  _

_ I pull her little body onto my lap and she straddles my hips, the skirt of her dress billowing over my thighs. The crotch of my jeans is tight - I’m getting harder by the second, and she can probably feel it.  _

_ But we’re doing this. Holy shit, we’re doing this.  _

_ “Then what?” she asks, and I notice that she’s trembling.  _

_ I frame her face with one hand, smoothing her cheekbone with my thumb. “Then, I’d kiss her,” I say, eyes on her lips as she licks them.  _

_ The last time we kissed was in the eighth grade, when our braces got stuck. This is nothing like that. This time, our parted lips come together perfectly and she sighs into my mouth, muscles slackening as she relaxes on top of me. Everything comes together, everything fits. _

_ “Oh,” she murmurs when we pull apart. She licks her lips again and tightens her fingers on my shoulders. With every breath she takes, I feel her stomach push against mine.  _

_ “What would  _ you _ do?” I ask, flipping the script.  _

_ “I… I…” she stammers, a blush creeping up her neck. “I’d take his shirt off.”  _

_ I raise my arms and keep my eyes on hers, then nod her along. Hesitating for only a moment, she lifts my shirt over my head, tosses it to the side, then runs her hands down my chest. My entire body shudders with her touch.  _

_ “Then what,” I say, leaning further back against the seat.  _

_ “My dress,” she says, and whips it off before I have a chance to.  _

_ Now, I’m staring. I know I am. But I can’t help it. She’s wearing a pink bralette and a pair of matching underwear - and I don’t say this next part out loud, but I keep my own little fantasy that she decided to match because she wanted me to see her underthings tonight.  _

_ I can’t keep my hands off her. I run them up her sides, my fingers covering so much of her skin. She has goosebumps all over, but judging by her errant muscle twitches and jerks, they’re the good kind of goosebumps.  _

_ I lean forward and slowly kiss the freckle in the middle of her chest. She whimpers, both hands on my head, and melts as my lips move lower to the swell of her right breast.  _

_ “Can I?” I ask, slipping my fingers beneath the lacy band that encircles her rib cage.  _

_ “Yeah,” she says, and lifts her arms like I had done.  _

_ Then, she’s braless. My best friend, braless and on top of me in the back of my car. Earlier tonight, I would have never, ever seen this coming.  _

_ “They’re so pretty,” I say, the words stumbling out before I have a chance to tell myself how stupid that is to say.  _

_ “Oh,” she says, looking away. “Um… thanks.”  _

_ “Sorry,” I say, shaking my head roughly. “I’m a dumbass.”  _

_ “No,” she says.  _

_ “ _ You’re  _ pretty,” I say. “Not just… you know. As a whole. You’re beautiful.”  _

_ She covers her cheeks with her hands, unable to look me in the eye. She’s sitting on my lap without a top on, but gets embarrassed when I call her beautiful. I can’t handle her.  _

_ “Thanks,” she whispers.  _

_ “Yeah,” I say, finding my eyes still on her chest. “Um… so, can I touch them?”  _

_ She nods, breath catching in her throat as she watches me. I cup her breasts in both hands and groan - they feel so good. Way better than my imagination. Not to say that I’ve imagined touching April’s boobs a lot. Just once or twice, or maybe a few times. _

_ “That okay?” I ask, massaging her.  _

_ “Yeah,” she says, leaning in. “I like it.”  _

_ “Cool,” I say, half smiling.  _

_ I run my thumbs over her nipples and her torso jerks in response. I pause for a second before we make eye contact and start giggling. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to. Just, um… that felt good.”  _

_ “Then don’t say sorry,” I tell her, thumbing her nipples again.  _

_ She inhales sharply and her eyebrows shoot up, which only encourages me. I lick my thumbs and rub circles over the buds on her chest that keep turning a deeper shade of pink.  _

_ “God, you’re hot,” I say, adjusting my hips to try and relieve the pressure building in my dick. “God, April.”  _

_ She whines, suddenly clapping both hands over mine, over her breasts, to stop me from moving. “I can’t take any more,” she says. “Will you kiss me again?” _

_ With my hands planted on her boobs, I do what she tells me. I kiss her hard and slip my tongue between her lips, and she lets me. She fucking lets me!  _

_ I squeeze her boobs hard and she moans, then starts rocking against me. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Her center rubs right against where I want it, I’ve literally never felt anything so good in my life, and then… _

_ I blow my load.  _

_ In my pants. _

_ My entire body freezes with the biggest amount of shame and embarrassment I’ve ever felt in my life. “Shit,” I hiss. “Fuck. Damn it.”  _

_ “Jackson....?” she questions, pulling away with lips kissed swollen. “Are you okay?”  _

_ “Uh, yeah,” I stammer, clearing my throat. There’s no way I can lie my way out of this. “I’m good… just… uh…”  _

_ “What? Is it me?” she asks, covering her chest with both arms.  _

_ “No!” I say. “I just… uh, I came. In my pants. A little bit. Well. Um, a lot.” She’s quiet for a long moment and I can’t bear to look at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just… I was so… and you were rubbing…”  _

_ She covers her mouth with one hand and giggles, and I look at her with a shocked expression.  _

_ “Are you laughing at me, dude?” I ask, pretending to be mad. But really, I couldn’t be more relieved. Thank god I have her for a best friend.  _

_ “Sorry,” she snickers, her face nearing mine so our noses touch.  _

_ “It’s not funny,” I say, though I’m smiling.  _

_ “It’s kinda funny,” she whispers, then goes for the zipper of my jeans. She pulls it down slowly, keeping her eyes on the bulge that, I admit, is already re-growing. “You can do it again, though, right?”  _

_ “Oh, hell yeah,” I say, helping her along by shucking my pants off and casting them aside.  _

_ The crotch of my boxers is sticky and soaked, so I don’t let her touch them. We are definitely not there yet. Way too mortifying. I take them off myself as she steps out of her underwear, and then we’re naked. Me and my best friend are naked, she’s on top of me, we’re about to have sex for the first time in the back seat of the car my mom bought me.  _

_ “Condom?” she says, interrupting how I’d been kissing her. She slips a hand between our bodies and says, “You’re hard. We need one.”  _

_ I twitch in her hand, but I will my dick to keep itself under control. I absolutely cannot prematurely come  _ twice  _ in the same night.  _

_ “Right,” I say, reaching for my wallet.  _

_ As I’m digging around, April says, “JJ…” I look up, pausing my search, and meet her eyes. I love that nickname because only she uses it. “It’s your first time, right?”  _

_ I smile, dropping a kiss to her cheek before pulling back to look at her again. “Yeah,” I say.  _

_ “Me, too,” she says, tracing the slope of my nose. “I’m happy it’s with you.”  _

_ I kiss her again, this time on the lips. “Me, too,” I say. “I love you.”  _

_ It isn’t the first time I’ve ever told her, and it definitely won’t be the last. But it’s the first time that the words come out of my mouth so heavily. They mean something more than just friendship. _

_ “I love you, too,” she says.  _

Like I told Sailor, April and I didn’t discuss that night until the reunion after so many years of being apart. Going back to school the Monday after prom, everything went back to how it was. We weren’t suddenly dating, we didn’t sneak off and have sex every chance we got. Things were normal, if not a little awkward at times.

There was nothing physically special about it. But it was special because it was us, and we could act like nothing changed all we wanted, but our friendship never came back from that night. It was meant to be something more. It just wasn’t time yet. 

I don’t tell Sailor any of the unsavory details, of course. She’s just an infant, she wouldn’t understand, but she still doesn’t need to hear me talk about her mama like that. That stuff is for grown people.

I close the photo album that sparked the memory and slide it back onto the shelf. From upstairs, I hear the TV come on, which means Holden is awake. I finish putting the rest of the albums back and head upstairs to see Holden grabbing a cereal bowl from a box in the kitchen. 

“Hey, knucklehead,” I say, then nod towards the TV. “What’s on?” 

She looks over her shoulder and rubs her eyes, still half gone. She looks just like April.

“Dunno,” she says blearily. “You had it on.” 

I was the last one with it on last night, she’s right. But I didn’t turn it on today, if that’s what she means. It doesn’t really matter. I don’t mind the background noise, and Sailor actually likes it. We’ll probably raise her to be a TV-holic, but there are worse things to be addicted to. 

“I’ll make you breakfast,” I say. “If you hold your sister. What sounds good?” 

“Uh…” she says, squinting one eye. “Do we have stuff for waffles?” 

“There’s always stuff for waffles,” I say, grinning. “What do you say? Can ya take her?” 

“I guess…” she says. 

I set Sailor in Holden’s outstretched arms and she cradles the baby close. Not bad, not natural yet, but definitely not bad. She should give herself more credit. 

“You know, you can hold her whenever you want,” I say, grabbing the waffle iron out of a box by the door. “She loves you.” 

“I don’t think she knows who I am,” Holden says, eyes on Sailor’s face. 

“She does,” I say. “And she’s a way better listener than you’d think.” 

“Yeah, ‘cause she doesn’t talk.” 

“My point exactly.” She snorts and I point in her direction, eyebrows raised. “Tell me I’m wrong,” I say, plugging in the iron. “What am I putting in these things? Blueberries? Chocolate chips?” 

“Um… both?” Holden asks, eyes alight because she knows very well that’s something April would never say yes to. 

“Blueberries and chocolate chips, coming up,” I say. 

“Awesome.” 

The fact that Holden called me “dad” the other day definitely didn’t go unnoticed. I heard it loud and clear. I wish it had been under better circumstances, but I’m still glad she felt comfortable enough to do it. April and I have talked about that for hours on end, how our blended family is supposed to come together. 

I adopted Holden as soon as April and I got married. There was never a doubt in my mind that I should. She’s my daughter. Through and through. I love her just like I would have if I created her. 

Though it made me happy to hear her say “dad” a couple days ago, I know I can’t force it. Acknowledging it is probably a bad idea, too, given that she’s 12. Me and April say more things wrong than right, in her opinion. I’ve decided just to let it be. If she wants to say it again, she will. If she doesn’t, that’s fine too. 

While me and Holden eat our waffles, I take Sailor from her and wear her like April does. I can’t get the sling to fit as well as she can, but it works for the time being.

“You still wanna go driving?” I ask Holden, mouth full of blueberries and chocolate. 

“Sure,” she says, shrugging. 

I’ve learned that preteens are enthusiastic over next to nothing. Holden smiles enough, but the only thing that would make her jump for joy is if she woke up with a brand new phone on the pillow next to her. And if April has anything to say about that, which she does, it won’t happen anytime soon. 

“Cool. Me, too. How about you get dressed, and I’ll put this one down for her morning nap and tell Mom where we’re headed.” 

“‘Kay,” Holden says, and we part ways. 

I change Sailor out of her wet diaper, into a clean one, then do my best at swaddling. “I’ll be honest, Cap, I got no idea what the hell I’m doing,” I tell her, switching between the blanket and a YouTube tutorial I have pulled up on my phone. 

I have to try seven times before I get it right, but luckily the baby is sleepy and doesn’t give much of a shit. I lay her down in the middle of the crib, pat her belly, and turn on the white noise machine before heading into the master bedroom where April still sleeps. 

“Babe,” I say, kneeling beside the bed. I rest a hand on her belly similarly to how I was touching Sailor. “Babe.” 

“Hmm… you okay?” she asks, blinking her eyes open. “JJ?” 

“No, no, everything’s fine,” I say, taking her hand. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m taking Holden out driving. The baby’s asleep. I’m leaving the baby monitor right here with you. Alright?” 

“Yeah,” she says. “Sounds good.” 

“Okay,” I say, then kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams.” 

I trot down the stairs to find Holden in shorts and a t-shirt, her hair up in a bouncy, red ponytail. 

“Ready?” I say. 

She nods, and we head out. 

…

Holden is twelve. It’s not my goal to actually teach her how to drive today, I just want to get her used to how it feels behind the wheel. I grew up without a dad and a pretty hands-off mom, so I didn’t practice driving until driver’s ed class, and it bit me in the ass. I failed the road test twice because of how uncomfortable I was with it all. I’m determined to do better by Holden. 

“Okay,” I say. “Repeat it all back.” 

“Always check your mirrors,” she says, glancing in the rearview. “Hands at 10 and 2. Never put your left foot on the brake. Umm.. always use turn signals, ‘cause if you don’t, you’ll piss off other drivers.” 

I smile and say, “Exactly. Just don’t add the ‘piss’ part around your mom.” 

“Yeah, no way,” she says, smirking. 

“You ready to roll, then?” I ask. “You feel good?” 

She cranes her neck and looks to the open field in front of us. I couldn’t have been happier when we signed on this house - not only because of its potential, but because of how much land it came with. My kids will never feel cooped up a day in their lives. 

“I can’t see that good,” she says. 

“Hold on,” I say, digging around in the back. I return with a folded-up blanket and stick it under her when she lifts up. “Good?” 

“Yeah,” she says. 

“Alright. Now press the brake, then switch your gear into drive,” I tell her. 

I watch her foot depress the brake, and she slides the gear shift down to drive. 

“Good. Now, take your foot off the brake nice and slow. Don’t push the gas, just take it off the brake. You can feel how the car responds. Both hands stay on the wheel.” 

Gnawing her lower lip, she follows through. At a snail’s pace, she lifts her foot from the brake and the car inches forward, creeping through the grass. 

“There you go,” I say. “How’s it feel?” 

“Weird,” she says. 

“That’s alright,” I say. “You’re doing great. Now, you can push on the gas a little bit. Just a little.” 

She does, but presses too hard. The car jolts forward, which makes her slam on the brakes, and both of our seatbelts lock across our chests. She sits there, staring ahead with wide eyes, gripping the steering wheel so tight that her hands quiver. 

“You’re okay,” I say. “You’re fine. It happens. Completely fine.” 

“I didn’t like it.” 

“Me, neither,” I say, chuckling. “But it’s all good, babe. You’re learning.” 

“I don’t wanna do it anymore.” 

“Give it one more try,” I say encouragingly. “Can’t leave scared, then you won’t wanna get in here again.” 

She looks at me, eyes big and desperate. “I don’t want to.” 

“One more try,” I say, my voice low and gentle. “I’m right here next to you. I won’t let anything bad happen.” 

She takes a deep breath and lets her shoulders deflate as she refocuses. Then, she lifts her foot off the brake and slips over to the gas, which she pushes down much, much gentler than the time before. 

“There you go,” I say. The car moves forward probably as slow as it’s ever gone, but it’s moving and she’s doing it. “Holden,” I say, excited but not too loud, as she gets about five feet. “You’re driving!” 

Slowly, a smile bursts onto her face, but she doesn’t take her eyes off what’s in front of her. She does a cheerful little jig that reminds me of her mom, and squeals. “I’m driving! I’m doing it! Dad, I’m doing it!” 

Somehow, I smile harder. My cheeks hurt, I’m so happy. “I’m proud of you, boo,” I say, then kiss the side of her head. “That’s enough for today. Let’s put it in park and I’ll take us for a spin.” 

We switch spots and I gun it, which makes Holden shriek with laughter. I knew it would. I drive fast over the land that we own, all 35 acres, and fly over the hills and bumps. I’ve been dying to do this ever since we moved in, and Holden is loving it, too. 

After a while, I take us back to the house and start doing donuts in the yard. Not the nice part, far enough away so the good grass doesn’t get ruined. I’m not an idiot.

As we’re going in circles, Holden closes her eyes and hollers. At first, I feel just as much joy. But all that stops when I see April standing at the foot of the back steps, just staring blankly ahead. 

She doesn’t look right. Her head is bent at almost a 90 degree angle, her neck crushed and sharp. She’s standing stone still, not moving a muscle, eyes on nothing in particular. I’m not sure she knows what she’s doing. 

And I don’t like her neck like that. 

Just as I’m about to say something to divert Holden’s attention, April’s position changes. Instead of bent to the side, her head drops back so her face turns towards the sky. It’s done so dramatically that I can only see the base of her throat and her chin - nothing else. It’s not natural. It’s not right. 

I don’t want Holden to see it. 

“Hey, uh, I gotta use the bathroom,” I say, cutting our fun short. 

“Oh,” she says, smile fading. “Can we come back out after?” 

“I don’t know,” I say, hurrying to get unbuckled. I get out of the car and run to April, hoping against hope that Holden doesn’t see her like this - but when April comes into my line of vision again, her head is positioned normally. Like nothing ever happened. 

But she still doesn’t look at me, or even acknowledge my presence hurtling towards her. 

“April!” I shout, out of breath.

The baby monitor is in her hand, and from it I can hear Sailor howling. I don’t know much about her cries yet, but it doesn’t seem like she’s hungry or wet. This cry doesn’t sound normal. 

I don’t wait for April to respond. Instead, I bolt past her, into the house, and up the stairs to the nursery. When I get there, I don’t find Sailor swaddled where I had placed her. 

I find her shoved, face-down and screaming, in the corner of the crib.


	4. Chapter 4

**HOLDEN**

When I was a baby, my grandma joked that I would never learn to walk because Mom refused to put me down. Literally every picture of me - even after I was mobile - I’m in Mom’s arms. Or on her hip. Or her shoulders. Or riding piggyback. Or something like that.

I was an only child without a dad. Of course Mom was my best friend. Not only was I shy and without another choice, but she also happened to be pretty awesome. 

We used to do everything together. At McDonald’s, she’d climb around in the playplace with me until an employee told her to get out. When everyone else’s moms were tanning in lawn chairs at the community pool, Mom would play marco polo with me in the shallow end. She chaperoned every single field trip in elementary school. She was  _ that _ mom, and I loved it. 

But things are different now. I can’t put my finger on why, or when the shift happened, but things are definitely not the same. 

First of all, she doesn’t laugh like she used to. I actually can’t remember the last time I heard her belly laugh at all. When I was younger, water used to come out of her nose when I told her the stupid joke on a Laffy Taffy wrapper. She was happy. We both were. 

I’m happy sometimes. Not all the time, because things are harder now. I don’t feel like a kid anymore, but I don’t feel like a teenager, and I definitely don’t feel like an adult. I think the term ‘preteen’ is stupid and made up. I’m just stuck in this stupid in-between stage where no one takes me seriously and no one listens to me. Not even Mom. 

I don’t know what changed. The thought did cross my mind that maybe it’s Jackson’s fault. I thought that last night while I was trying to fall asleep. My thoughts were so loud; I couldn’t shut my eyes without them literally screaming in my ears. I hate it when my thoughts shout. That only started happening once we moved into this house. 

But anyway, Jackson. He and Mom have been together since I was like nine, but they only got married for real last year. It doesn’t really add up with the timeline of Mom’s weirdness, but it was still a big change for both of us. 

I didn’t consider it for very long, though, because all this is definitely not Jackson’s fault. He’s been around forever. Just because they signed a piece of paper shouldn’t make Mom go nuts. 

I think they thought it would make me go nuts, though. Sometimes, it does throw me for a loop because I see people look at us in the grocery store, or in the mall, or places like that. They look at me and know I’m not Jackson’s biological kid. I hate the way that feels. I wish Mom would have just waited, so that he could be my real dad. 

But the thing is, he basically is my real dad and I know that. I even started calling him ‘dad,’ but that only works when it slips out accidentally. When I try to do it on purpose, it feels way too forced.

I’ve known Jackson since I was a toddler. I don’t remember meeting him, but Mom always tells the story of him and I hanging out in the lobby of the hotel where their school reunion was, playing hopscotch on the tiles. It was a big deal, me playing with him like that, because I hated being separated from my mom. 

When Mom tells the story, she always adds that that’s how she knew she would be with him forever. Because it only took me two seconds to love him. 

My first memory with Jackson is from when I was five or so. My grandma bought me a ticket to see One Direction in concert - and one for a guest, too. Surprising everyone, I didn’t choose Mom to go with me. I chose Jackson. 

I remember getting to the venue and being terrified of how many people were there. Tons of people who were way older and way taller than me, who had their groups of friends and flashy outfits. I had Jackson and a little white t-shirt that Mom had ironed the boys’ faces onto. I clung to Jackson’s leg so tight that he could barely walk, so he picked me up and brought me inside on his hip instead. 

I remember how different it felt being held by him than it did to be held by my mom. He was sturdy, and that made me feel safe. I remember wondering if he was my dad, even while knowing the truth that he wasn’t. 

When the concert started, Jackson slipped a pair of big headphones onto my ears that made the experience so much more fun. I didn’t even need to ask him for them. He just knew. 

And when I was stuck staring at people’s backs and butts when the boys came on stage, Jackson wasted no time in lifting me onto his shoulders. I watched the rest of the show from the best seat in the house, singing every word. It cracked me up that Jackson sang along too, and that he knew all the lyrics. 

What’s happening to Mom can’t be Jackson’s fault. She’s known him for way too long. We both have. The only other factor I can think of is… Sailor. 

I heard snippets of Mom talking on the phone to Grandma about how hard giving birth was. A few days ago, I kind of worked up the courage to ask her about it, but it didn’t seem like she wanted to talk, so I dropped the subject. I don’t want to make her relive it if it was really awful. I don’t like seeing her scared. I’m super glad that I wasn’t in the room when Sailor was born, only Jackson was. I was in the lobby with Grandma until like, 2am, and Jackson had to wake us up to let us know that Sailor was out and healthy. It wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like a whole different lifetime. 

Sailor was weird at first. All tiny and red and scaly. Mom said the scales were normal, just like the little pimples on her face, even though I always heard that babies’ skin was supposed to be amazingly smooth. Mom said it would eventually go away and she would look more like babies in diaper commercials when she was a few months old. 

She’s only three weeks now, but she really has changed a lot. Instead of a tiny alien, she’s starting to look more like a human - even if she’s still a little crumply. Mom says she has my eyes, but I don’t see it. I really want to see it, though. I want people to know that we’re sisters without having to ask the whole story behind it. 

I didn’t like her at first. I loved her, but I didn’t like her. And then I started holding her more, and things changed. Even when Mom and Jackson make me hold her, I don’t really mind. I like how she looks at me, and how she can’t really grab things yet. I like the little sounds she makes and it’s fun to pick her outfits. 

I don’t want Mom’s strangeness to be Sailor’s fault, but it makes sense. Mom did say that having a baby makes your emotions and your hormones go all weird. But I don’t think new moms are supposed to go  _ this  _ weird. 

I feel bad for Sailor. Not only because she doesn’t know Mom the way I used to, but because she was crammed in the corner of her crib when Jackson went up to the nursery earlier.

Mom was standing outside like a statue or something, and the last thing I saw was Jackson racing into the house like something was on fire. I almost thought that was the case, until I heard the baby screaming her head off. Then I knew something different was really wrong. 

I didn’t stick around to see Sailor in the crib. I doubt I could have seen her, anyway, given how fast Jackson got in there. I locked myself in my room as soon as he went into the nursery, hoping to miss whatever happened next. But, unfortunately, even though the walls are thick and hours have passed by now, I can hear them fighting. 

“What were you thinking? Honestly, April, what were you thinking?” 

Jackson sounds mad. Scary mad. I’ve never heard his voice like this, not in the entire time I’ve known him. And I’ve  _ especially  _ never heard him talk that way to Mom. 

“I don’t know,” Mom says, and she’s crying.

“She could have suffocated!” Jackson bellows. 

“I know!” Mom snaps back. “There’s something wrong, Jackson, I told you something was wrong.” 

“With what?” he asks helplessly. “What are you talking about, wrong? Wrong with you?” 

“No, not with me!” she retorts. 

I head to the spot in my room that’s furthest away from the door - the closet. I walk inside and shut the door hard, shrinking into the corner with my hands pressed hard over my ears. It does a little bit of a good, but it doesn’t fix the problem. 

“Then what does that mean, April?” 

I can’t listen to this anymore. 

“Just  _ stop _ !” I shout, tears streaming down my face. 

Before right now, I’ve never heard them fight. Maybe bicker or argue once in a while, but I’ve never witnessed a blowout like this one. 

I know from the movies that fights usually mean divorce. When parents stop agreeing and start arguing, that’s when things get bad. 

The thought of Mom and Jackson getting a divorce scares me. We only just moved into this house. Where would I go? Who would I stay with? Would I have to live with only Mom, who’s going crazy, and Sailor? If it happened, would I ever see Jackson again? 

Their voices go quiet for a little bit, but it doesn’t last. The shouting picks back up again before long, and this time, it’s Mom. She’s screaming.

“How  _ dare _ you?” 

I dig through the nearest box and put on a pair of earmuffs. It’s the best I can do to drown it out.

Mom and Jackson have always been really affectionate with each other. In the kitchen while she’s cooking, he’ll put his arm around her waist. They always kiss when they meet up after a long day apart. When we’re out in public, they hold hands. Sometimes, they’ll just hug for no apparent reason. 

I seriously don’t know another pair of parents that still does all that. 

I like it, most of the time. It reminds me how much they love each other, and the fact that they’re best friends. They’ve known each other forever, yet they still wanna be all mushy. It’s kind of inspiring, when you think about it. I got lucky that way. 

There was only one time when their touchy-feely ways got kind of traumatic for me. I was nine years old, and I still remember it as clearly as if it happened yesterday. 

_ Mom tucked me in hours ago, but I can’t fall asleep. I’m just laying in bed, staring at the ceiling while tossing and turning. I tried to read, but I can’t concentrate. I even tried counting sheep. I got all the way to a thousand and lost interest.  _

_ It’s so late that even Mom and Jackson went to bed. I heard them come up the stairs a little while ago.  _

_ Usually, I can take care of stuff like this on my own. I don’t need my mom to treat me like a baby anymore. But I have school tomorrow, and I really want to go to sleep. So, maybe Mom will make me some hot chocolate and lay with me for a while if I go ask her.  _

_ I slip out of bed and grab my favorite stuffed animal, Hoppy. I tuck him under one arm and turn the door handle slowly, peering into the hallway where the nightlight shines. I don’t like the dark, and Mom’s room seems so far away. In the daytime, it’s definitely not this far.  _

_ I take a deep breath, pinch my eyes shut for a moment, then make a break for it. The braid that Mom put in my hair before I laid down flops against my back, and I stick the end of it in my mouth once I stop running.  _

_ I hear sounds coming from inside her room; it’s a relief to know she’s awake. She gets so scared when I wake her up, then it scares me. So, I was really hoping she wouldn’t be asleep yet.  _

_ I hear her voice, but she’s not saying words. Just making sounds. It sounds like she’s working really hard on something, though I don’t know what she could be doing so late.  _

_ “Mommy?” I say softly, resting my knuckles against the door. I’m afraid to knock. I don’t want to be loud. It feels wrong in the dark. “Mommy, I can’t sleep.”  _

_ She doesn’t hear me. I know, because the noises continue and I hear Jackson now, too, saying Mom’s name over and over again. Also saying swear words. _

_ I do what I have to do and open the door. Slowly, just enough to peek my head inside. The light coming in from the window shines on their bed, and at first I can’t tell what’s going on. I just see a lump under the covers, moving up and down.  _

_ I squint through the darkness and my eyes land on Mom’s hands resting on the back of Jackson’s shoulders, but I still can’t tell what they’re doing. I also see Mom’s bare foot hanging off the side of the bed, flexing and unflexing. It looks like they might be wrestling or something. _

_ Then, the shape under the covers moves. I can see Mom’s back now. She’s sitting up straight, and I’m pretty sure she’s naked because all I can see is white skin. Her hair is all messy and she’s moving really weirdly… on top of Jackson. He has his hands on her hips and, suddenly, I feel like this is something that I really shouldn’t be watching.  _

_ Right as I think that, Jackson and I lock eyes.  _

_ “Oh, shit!” he exclaims, and practically tosses Mom off of him.  _

_ “What?!” she shrieks, flipping her head around.  _

_ Then she sees me.  _

_ Her eyes get big and she covers her naked chest with her arms, then fumbles for her underwear. “Oh, Holden, honey,” she says, but I turn and race back to my room before I hear anything else.  _

_ With Hoppy, I jump into bed and bury myself under the covers. I try to slow down my breathing so she’ll think I fell asleep, but it doesn’t work. At all. She comes in a few minutes later, flicks on the overhead light, and sits down beside me.  _

_ “Baby, can you come out?” she says softly. Mom’s voice is always soft.  _

_ “No,” I grunt, arms over my head.  _

_ “Okay…” she says, and rubs my back through the blanket. “That’s fine. We can talk like this.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry you saw that. I know it was probably confusing for you-”  _

_ “It was gross. You were naked.”  _

_ “I was,” she says. “And it is gross… to you. Because it’s an adult thing that adults do with each other.”  _

_ I blink, staring at the pattern of my sheets. “...Wrestling?” I ask.  _

_ She lets out a long breath. “Well, no,” she says. Then she inhales for a long time. “Honey, can you come out and look at me?”  _

_ I comply this time. I push the covers away and sit up, blinking into her eyes that look just like mine. Her hair is still messy, but she’s wearing a robe now. Jackson isn’t here; it’s just us. I’m glad. That would be way too embarrassing.  _

_ “When two people love each other, they wanna find ways to show it,” she says. “Like kissing, and hugging, little ways like that. Those ways are for everyone you love. Your friends and family. But the kind of love between two people who are married, or two people who are partners in life, that’s different. To show each other that kind of love, they have sex.”  _

_ I’ve heard that word before, in songs and stuff. But I’ve never heard it come from Mom. I don’t say anything, because I have no idea what to say. I’m too embarrassed.  _

_ “That’s how babies are made - from a man and a woman having sex,” Mom continues.  _

_ “You and Jackson are making a baby?!” I ask, freaking out.  _

_ “No, no,” she says. “A baby  _ can  _ come from it. But it doesn’t have to. We were just doing it… well, because we love each other. But we never meant for you to see it. I’m sorry about that. It’s a private thing, just between Jackson and me. I promise we’ll be more careful, honey.”  _

_ “Is it, like… kissing?” I say. “Because you don’t do that in private.”  _

_ She smirks. “That’s part of it… but no, there’s more to it than that. I’ll tell you when you’re a little older, okay? For right now, just know that I’m sorry you saw us like that.”  _

_ “I knocked on the door and said your name,” I tell her quietly.  _

_ “I didn’t hear you, babe,” she says, then pulls me in for a hug. “What did you need?” _

_ “I can’t sleep,” I say. “I wanted you to lay with me.” _

_ She kisses the side of my head and holds me tight for a long beat. “Of course,” she says. “Let’s get cozy.”  _

Now, three years later, I obviously know what sex is. Not only have we learned about it in school, but Mom gave me “the talk,” and it was mortifying. I haven’t walked in on her and Jackson since then, but I have heard them a few times, and it’s really disgusting. 

But I haven’t seen them be gross in their Mom-and-Jackson way since we moved into this house. Since they brought Sailor home. 

Something is different. Nothing is right in this house. 

It’s all wrong. 

**APRIL**

“What were you thinking? Honestly, April, what were you thinking?” 

I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared as I am right now. With Sailor pressed to my chest, I try to stop myself from shaking. It doesn’t work, though. 

“I don’t know,” I say, weeping. The tears slip down my cheeks and land on top of Sailor’s soft, downy head. She’s still crying, too. Not as loud or as scared as she’d been before, but she’s picking up on my energy. 

“She could have suffocated!” Jackson shouts, veins in his forehead bulging. He never gets this angry. It’s not a standard emotion for him - he only got to this level because of how scared he is.

I’m scared, too. 

“I know!” I say, voice wobbling. “There’s something wrong, Jackson, I told you something was wrong.” 

His voice comes down a notch, but his eyebrows raise. “With what?” he asks, practically pleading. “What are you talking about, wrong? Wrong with you?” 

“No, not with me!” I say, raising my voice again. 

“Then what does that mean, April?” 

From far away, I hear Holden's distressed voice. "Just _stop_!" she shouts.

My face flames red. She can hear us. I lock eyes with Jackson and we both know we have to lower our voices.

I wrap my arms around Sailor and gather my thoughts. “With the house,” I whisper. “This house. Something isn’t right. Can’t you feel it?” 

“Feel what?” 

“There’s something here,” I say, swallowing hard.

It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud, the first time I’ve let the thought come to fruition. I hadn’t wanted to believe it. But now, what other explanation is there? 

“What do you mean?” 

“Jackson, in the house,” I hiss. “I didn’t move Sailor. I didn’t touch her. And I’m assuming you didn’t lay her down in the goddamn corner.” I widen my eyes and blink rapidly as I stare into his. “She can’t roll over yet. Not even close.” I place one hand on the back of her head, guarding her. “Something else did it.” 

He looks at me with an indecipherable expression painted on his face. There are lines etched into his forehead and at the corners of his eyes that show how distressed he is - how distressed I’ve made him. 

“What are you saying?” he asks. 

“Jackson,” I say, trying to keep calm. The baby has quieted considerably, but still whimpers in my arms. I bounce on the balls of my feet to try and soothe her, and it works for the time being. “I have no memory of this entire afternoon. Nothing clear, at least.” I let the words sink in for a moment. “I remember nursing her in the morning, when you woke me up. Then, I remember you running past me outside. Everything else is foggy, or… or just gone.” I shake my head. “I don’t remember waking up, or going to the backyard, or anything in between. It’s like today didn’t even happen.” 

He studies me hard, scrutinizes me. “But that doesn’t make sense,” he says, the words come out slowly. “How can you not remember your neck…?”

“My neck?” I ask, removing one hand from Sailor’s back to feel it. It feels fine and normal, if not a little sore. But I’ve been sore all over for weeks. 

“You really don’t remember?” 

“No...” I say, growing alarmed. “What happened?” 

“You…” he begins, then stops and looks at the floor. His eyes stay there for a moment before he looks up and says, “If you don’t remember your neck, then who’s to say you don’t remember messing with the baby?” 

Instantly, my face grows hot. I take the hand away from my neck and put it back on Sailor, whose little body I hold tighter against my chest. “How dare you?” I growl. 

“April, it’s not that-” 

“How  _ dare _ you?” I scream, my entire body trembling. “How dare you suggest I’d hurt her? I would never, ever, do anything to jeopardize her safety, Jackson. Ever. Why would you say something like that?” 

Sailor whines softly, then starts crying all over again. “I’m sorry,” Jackson mutters, chin lowered. He knows he made a mistake. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you hurt her… I don’t.” He lets out a long sigh, rubbing his temples as he goes. “I know you, and I trust you. I just got so scared.” He looks at the baby, then me. “Scared for her. Scared for you.” 

I’m still not sure why he’s looking at me with the caution that he is, but I don’t have the strength to ask tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

“I’m scared, too,” I say, swaying with the baby. I sit on the bed and help her find my nipple, which quiets her down immediately. 

“You are?” 

I nod, and he sits down beside me. 

“Things will get better,” he promises. “We still have adjustments to make… things are gonna get easier.” He kisses my cheek and plays with the hem of my shirt. “I’ll give you a massage while she’s eating. It’ll help.”

“You don’t get it,” I say as he lifts my shirt over my head. “I’m scared for Sailor. I’m scared for my own wellbeing, but…” I take a deep breath. “I’m scared _of_ this house.” 

I can’t see Jackson’s reaction, as I’m faced the other way, but he doesn’t say a word. He hasn’t touched me yet, either. 

“I don’t mean to sound so morose,” I say, tracing the shell of Sailor’s ear. “I just want to keep things honest between us, I guess.” 

“April…” 

“What?” I snap, concerned at his tone. 

“What is this all over your back?” he asks. 

“What? What’s what?” I say, turning my head to try and see. But the angle is too awkward; I can’t see a thing. 

He runs his finger diagonally across my back, from my left shoulder blade to the waist of my pants. I flinch away from the feeling - it burns. 

“Did you hurt yourself today?” he asks. 

“I didn’t get up from this bed today,” I say. 

“I think you need to see this, then.” 

He helps me up with the baby still nursing, and leads me into the bathroom. He flips the light on, turns me around, and I see them. There’s no way I could miss them. 

There are three long, red, gashes sunk into my back - slashed deliberately by something very, very sharp. 

“Oh, my god,” I mutter, breathing hard. “What are those? How did that happen? I didn’t feel… how did I not feel that happen?” 

Jackson stares at the reflection for a long while, then turns to my ragged skin. “You didn’t feel it?” he asks. 

I shake my head violently. “I didn’t know,” I say. 

“Do they hurt?”

“Now, they do,” I say, and it’s true. Now that I know they’re there, my back stings and my skin is on fire.

“You must have… bumped into something,” he says. “You did say that you don’t remember much of the day.” 

I sputter with disbelief. “You think running into a door created three giant claw marks down my back?” I ask. 

“I don’t think they’re claw marks,” he says.

“I do!” I say, chest heaving with my breath. “Let me check you.” I lift the back of his shirt only to find his skin as clear as always. 

“Anything?” 

“No,” I say.

He turns around to face me again, and his Adam’s apple bobs. I can practically hear the thoughts whirring inside his head. 

“I know you think I’m crazy,” I say.

“I don’t,” he retorts. “I just… I don’t understand.” 

“Don’t you feel watched here?” I ask, glancing in the mirror at the angry lacerations again. “I do. Every second of the day. I don’t feel safe, Jackson. I don’t think any of us are safe.” 

“We are safe,” he assures me, but I don’t believe him. I can’t say that out loud, though. “I’m gonna clean these… get you patched up. Then we can go to bed. Things will be better in the morning.” 

I nod, acquiescing, and stay in the bathroom while he goes to get the First Aid kit from a box in the hall. Sailor continues to eat while cradled in my arms, and I run my fingers over her arms and legs - anchoring myself with her soft, content little presence.

“It’s gonna be alright,” I coo. “We’ll be okay, we’ll…” 

I stop talking with her tiny arm in my hand, because I see a mark darkening her skin that I’ve never noticed before. I move the sleeve of her shirt to get a clearer view, then see a group of four bruises that look to be in the shape of fingers. Fingers that apparently gripped my infant daughter hard enough to bruise, hard enough to hurt. 

What grabbed her and flipped her over in the crib today? Something left these marks as a message - something wants me to know she’s in danger. 

“Jackson!” I shriek, which makes Sailor detach and start wailing. 

There’s a clatter as the box assumedly topples over in his rush to get to me. He stumbles into the bedroom, intensely afraid, face flushed. “What? What?” he demands. 

“Look, there’s… there’s a mark, there’s- someone grabbed her, Jackson! There are bruises… they’re right…” I lift Sailor’s sleeve again as she screams in protest, only to find the skin of her arm baby smooth and free of any blemishes. “It was right here,” I say desperately, eyes wide as I keep looking - as if I could miss those bruises. They were clear as day, plastered on her skin. Someone manhandled her. Someone left proof that they wanted me to see.

But now that proof is gone. 

“JJ, I swear, it was right there,” I say, weeping again. 

Jackson stares at me as I stand there, unhinged and shirtless, in front of the mirror with a screaming baby trying to find my nipple. Then, he moves hair off my shoulder and curls it behind my ear, giving me the gentlest look as he does. 

“You’re tired, April,” he says. “It’s okay. I see crazy shit when I’m sleep deprived, too. You’ll feel better tomorrow morning.” 

I have to believe he’s right. I have to. There’s no other option I can accept. 

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay, yeah.” 

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll be right back. Still gonna get those supplies.” 

He leaves, and I look into the mirror. 

I know the figure standing beside me, arms curled around my shoulders, isn’t there. I’m overtired. I didn’t eat today. I had the scare of my life with Sailor. 

It’s not there. It’s not touching me. I don’t feel its breath in my ear as I pinch my eyes shut tight and will it away. When I open my eyes, it won’t be here. 

“Got the kit,” Jackson says, reentering the bathroom. 

I open my eyes. 

It’s just the three of us in the room now - Jackson, me, and Sailor. The shadow is gone; not touching me, not breathing on me. Gone.

It was just my imagination. That inky black figure was never here. 

But then I imagine Holden’s voice from earlier, pleading with Jackson and me to stop fighting. We hadn’t listened. Our emotions were too high. We kept going, while she sat alone in her room, terrified and isolated.

Suddenly, I know instantly where that shadow went.


	5. Chapter 5

**JACKSON**

Once April gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her. So, as she careens down the hallway towards Holden’s room, all I can do is follow. She bursts through the door and slams the light on, rushing to the bed afterwards. 

“Huh?” Holden mutters, popping out from under the covers. “What’s going on?” 

“Is something in here?” April asks. She hands me the baby while looking up at the high-ceilinged corners. “Holden, is something in here with you?” 

“I was asleep,” Holden says grumpily. “What are you doing?” 

April hasn’t stopped surveying the room. “Whatever was in our bathroom came in here. I had a feeling… I just have a feeling that it did. You’re sure you didn’t see anything?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer before throwing open the closet door. She pulls it so hard that it bangs against the wall and makes the baby cry. 

“Mom, stop!” Holden says. “Nothing’s in here.” 

“Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not here,” April says. “Come out! I know you’re doing this on purpose.” 

“You’re scaring me,” Holden says, eyeing April warily. 

Sailor continues to bawl, her little body jerking in distress. I do my best to soothe her, bringing her close to my chest while making shushing sounds. “April,” I say. “Enough. Let’s go to bed.” 

“How can you ignore this awful feeling?” she says. “It  _ grabbed _ Sailor. You didn’t see the marks… but it grabbed her. And it was standing next to me in the mirror.”

“What?” Holden asks tearfully. She’s crying now, too. “Jackson, what is she talking about?” 

“She just needs sleep,” I say, one arm around April’s shoulders. “Everything’s fine.” 

“How can you say that?” April spits. 

“A, please,” I say. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

Reluctantly, she lets me usher her into our bedroom. I help her under the covers after making sure her wounds - all four of them - are clean and dressed nicely. 

“I got the baby tonight,” I say. “I need you to sleep.” 

“Yeah,” she says, but her eyes still dart all over the room. She looks about as far from relaxed as someone can get. 

“April, please.” 

“I said yeah!” she snaps. 

“Okay,” I say, sighing deeply. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” 

I switch the light off and stand with Sailor in the dark hallway for a moment. She has stopped crying, but judging from the sad sounds coming from Holden’s room, I have one daughter left to comfort. 

I push open her door with a loud creak and peek inside. “Hey,” I say. “Can I come in?” 

The overhead light that April turned on so violently is off again, replaced by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. “Sure,” she says, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. 

“Alright if I bring my plus-one?” I ask, raising my arms to acknowledge the baby I have cradled there.

“Yeah.” 

I walk inside and shut the door behind me, then sit on the end of her bed. I want to let her know that I’m here for her while still providing the space she deserves. 

She tries to stop crying, rubbing her eyes with closed fists, and when she does that she looks a lot like the toddler that I met 9 years ago. It’s sweet. 

“You okay?” I ask. 

She sniffles loudly, then blinks at me with glistening green eyes. April’s eyes. “Is Mom going crazy?” she says, voice trembling. 

I let a gust of air puff my cheeks out. “Oh, Holds,” I say. “No. She’s not going crazy.” 

“Then why is she acting like that?” 

I scratch my eyebrow and catch Sailor’s yawn as I look at her. “She’s got a lot going on,” I say. “And the truth is, I think her mental health is taking a toll.” 

“But you just said she’s not going crazy.” 

“Mental health problems don’t ever mean that you’re crazy,” I say sternly. “It just means she needs help. From us, or maybe from someone who knows more than we do.” 

She looks down and plays with a string on her comforter. It’s old and worn; I should look into getting her a new one. That would be a nice surprise. 

“I heard you guys fighting,” Holden murmurs. 

My heart drops. Not only because of her words, but because of the expression on her face when she says them. It’s totally defeated. Me and April kicked her when she was down. 

“You did?” She nods, and I shake my head and say, “I’m sorry.” 

She looks up with fresh tears running down her cheeks. “Are you guys getting a divorce?” she peeps. 

My eyes widen. “Oh, Holden, no,” I say, then outstretch the arm that isn’t holding Sailor. “Come here.” She crawls out of the covers and falls against my chest, sobbing wet and loud into my t-shirt. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you us fighting.” 

“Why were you doing it? What’s wrong?” 

I pat her shoulder and kiss the top of her head. “We were scared,” I say. “Both of us for different reasons. But we’re not getting a divorce, boo.” 

“Okay.” 

“Married people fight. It’s normal. I don’t want you to think every argument means someone’s gonna leave. Alright?” 

She nods. 

“I’m not gonna leave you. I’m always gonna be here. You know that?” She nods again. “I wanna hear you say it.” 

“I know it,” she murmurs. 

“Alright,” I say, and kiss her hair one more time. “You should go back to sleep. I’m sorry we woke you.” 

I stand up and tuck her in, making sure the covers are tight like she used to like when she was little. “Thanks,” she whispers. I know it’s for more than just tucking her in. 

“Always,” I say, giving her a small smile. “See you in the morning.” 

I walk Sailor into the nursery, feeling more at ease than I did before talking to Holden. I’m not sure what’s going on with April - but I doubt her instability is due to a presence in the house. Sure, I’ve heard a few bangs and clatters here and there, but we live in a really old house. I know it’s cliche, but those things are to be expected. 

At the same time, though, I can’t blame her. She just had a baby and we’re all getting used to a new life. I don’t want to make her feel invalid or like I don’t believe her, but I don’t want to add to her fears, either. I want her to know that she’s safe, and that Sailor is, too. 

But what if it’s April who’s jeopardizing Sailor’s safety? 

I let out a long sigh in the low light of the baby’s room while I change her into a clean diaper. “Just like I told your sister,” I say to her. “I’m gonna make sure everything’s alright around here. For all of us. Okay, Captain?” 

She sticks her tongue out, kicking her legs in that jerky, newborn fashion. I smile at her, bend to kiss her belly, then swaddle her tight. 

“You have sweet dreams, okay?” I say. “I’ll see you in a few hours with the goods.” 

I turn on Sailor’s nightlight and walk slowly back to mine and April’s room. She’s lying in bed, sound asleep on her side. Seeing that, I’m instantly comforted. She just needs a break, that’s all. She needs to recover from the beating her body took when she brought Sailor into the world. I can help her with that. 

I lay down beside her with my fingers interlocked over my midsection. Listening to the sound of April’s steady breathing should lull me to sleep, but it doesn’t. All I can think about is how Sailor looked in her crib earlier today, her face jammed in the corner, screaming for someone to save her. Every time I close my eyes, that’s what I see. I can’t get over it. 

Who did that to her? April thinks it’s an entity determined to hurt her, but to me, that doesn’t make sense. What differentiates Sailor from any other baby? Why would a demon want  _ her _ ? 

I’m not even sure I believe in demons. I know April does, since she was raised religious, but they’ve always seemed like a horror movie trope to me. I can’t find it within myself to be afraid of something that I can’t see. 

But my baby getting hurt, that’s something I’m afraid of. I can’t let that happen again. 

Making sure not to disturb April, I slip out of bed and make my way back to the nursery. With the white noise machine masking my footsteps, I don’t wake Sailor up when I peer over her crib to make sure she’s sleeping soundly. And she is. Her little chest rises and falls in a measured rhythm, and her lips are pursed out in their adorable way. She’s perfectly fine. But I want to make sure she stays that way. 

I sit in the rocking chair by the window and look outside for a long while, wondering what time it must be now. The sky is a clear, midnight blue, and there are more stars out there than I’ve ever seen before. April would love this sky. I’m not sure if she’s taken the time to look at it yet. Maybe, if things are better, I’ll show her tomorrow. 

I fall asleep sitting up without meaning to. I must be asleep for at least three hours, because what wakes me is the sound of Sailor fussing - she’s hungry.

I stir, stretching my neck that’s now sore. “I’m here,” I mutter, walking to the crib so she can see me. “Is it time for a midnight snack?”

She continues to cry when I pick her up, but quiets considerably once I take the swaddler off and nestle her against my bare chest. She loves that skin-to-skin stuff. She snuffles around with her eyes closed, mouth open, and I laugh when I realize what she’s trying to do. 

“You’re not gonna get anything from there, boo,” I tell her, smiling. “And I wouldn’t try, if I were you. Let’s go down to the kitchen.” 

Basked in the light from the fridge, I feed her a bottle of breastmilk at just the right temperature. She drinks it down fast, eyes wide and concentrated on me the whole time. I make faces at her, sticking out my tongue and crossing my eyes - I’m not sure if she likes it, but at least it gives her a little entertainment. 

Once she’s done, I put the bottle in the sink and head to the couch. I lay down with the baby on my chest and stroke her back, trying to soothe her to sleep. It does the trick pretty fast, too. I knew it would. Both April and Holden love their back tickled, so I figured Sailor would feel the same.

I breathe in the scent of her head with my eyes closed, thinking about how simple yet incredibly difficult she is to take care of. All she does is eat, poop, stare, and cry, but at the same time, she’s so delicate and intricate. 

I met Holden when she was three years old, and she was a lot more complicated than that. She had strong opinions on everything - she still does - and she was her mama’s shadow. She never knew any different. We may have hit it off at the reunion, but after that, it was hard for her to get used to the idea of sharing April. 

_ I’m nervous as hell, walking up to April’s front door with two bouquets. I hope she still likes tulips, but I really have no clue. We haven’t spoken since the summer after senior year, and now we’re 25. She has a toddler, a cutie named Holden. She’s a mother, but I still feel like the same idiot I was when she last saw me.  _

_ Through college, I had a few girlfriends, but nothing serious. Honestly, I never stopped thinking about April. I wonder if she can say the same. I hope so. It kills me that I’m not Holden’s real dad, although I would never say that out loud - at least, not this soon. This is only the second time I’m seeing April after years of being apart. I don’t want to freak her out.  _

_ But I thought about her so much during those years, it’s almost like she was with me. In a creepy sort of way.  _

_ The lights are on in her house, I see the yellow warmth through the bay window in the front. Shadows move behind the curtains, and I try to calm my nerves before knocking on the door. Tonight, our first date consists of having dinner at her place with Holden. Then, after Holden goes to bed, we’ll spend some time catching up.  _

_ What ‘catching up’ means, I’m not sure. But my mind can’t help but wander to the night we spent in my car after prom, when we lost our virginities to each other. I wouldn’t mind ‘catching up’ that way. I missed the hell out of her… and her body. But if she’s not ready for that, I’m not either. I’m just saying, I wouldn’t turn it down.  _

_ Before my knuckles touch the door, it swings open and I have to look down to see who greets me. There Holden stands, all three feet of her, wearing a mermaid tail with red hair tucked behind her ears.  _

_ “Hi, Holden,” I say. “These are for you.” _

_ Behind the tulips, I take out a smaller bouquet of wildflowers and present them to her. She eyes them for a moment before scrunching her lips up and saying, “I’m Ariel. Not Holden.”  _

_ “Oh, excuse-”  _

_ “See my tail?” she says, lifting the green, iridescent thing. Her feet are bare underneath, toenails painted all different colors. “And I have this.” She presses a finger to her chest, where I notice a seashell bra contraption layered over a white t-shirt.  _

_ “I do see.”  _

_ Suddenly, April appears behind ‘Ariel’ and lifts her onto a hip. “Hey,” she says. “I see my little mermaid greeted you. Sorry, I was setting the table.”  _

_ “I’m the little mermaid!” Holden shouts, tail flapping as she kicks her legs. “Look, Mommy. Jackson bringed me flowers.”  _

_ “I have some for you, too,” I say, handing April the tulips.  _

_ “Oh, wow,” April says, letting Holden smell them before she does. “What do we say to him?”  _

_ “Thank you,” Holden says shyly, ducking her face into April’s hair.  _

_ “Come in,” April says. “Excuse Ariel’s toys. She was exploring the ocean right before you got here.”  _

_ “Oh, cool,” I say. “What’d you find, Ariel?”  _

_ April nudges Holden. “Did you hear him, baby? What’d you find?”  _

_ “I don’t know,” Holden says into April’s neck, still timid.  _

_ “She’ll warm up,” April says over her head. “Come sit down. We’re having Holden’s favorite, which I think is your favorite, too. If I remember right.”  _

_ “Lasagna?” I ask. _

_ “Wansonya!” Holden cheers, wriggling to get down so she can hop onto a booster seat. “This is my chair.”  _

_ “You can sit here,” April says, meeting my eyes while pulling out a different chair. “Next to me.”  _

_ “I’m next to you, Mommy,” Holden points out.  _

_ “You both are,” April says. “I get to be in the middle, just like we planned. Right?”  _

_ “Right.”  _

_ I like watching the two of them together. It’s clear that April is all Holden has ever known, but it’s sweet. They’re close, and I can tell April is a good mom. It’s making my heart do all sorts of weird things.  _

_ April and I talk about superficial things with Holden at the table, and that’s fine. Things will probably change once she goes upstairs, but for right now I’m enjoying her company. She’s done eating, and to get our attention away from our conversation, she plants her hands in the leftover sauce on her plate and smears it all over her cheeks. She gives me a big, smug smile and giggles mischievously; she knows exactly what she’s doing.  _

_ “Holden…” April says, grabbing a napkin to wipe her daughter’s face. “Let’s not play with food when we have a guest.”  _

_ “I got a sauce face,” she says, craning her neck so April has a hard time cleaning her. “I did sauce all over my face.”  _

_ “He saw,” April says, trying not to laugh. “Are you showing off for Jackson?”  _

_ “No, I just did a sauce face,” she says, then extends her arms in April’s direction. “Mommy needs some.”  _

_ “No, Mommy doesn’t want sauce on her face,” April says, cleaning Holden’s hands. “We’re done with the sauce now, unless you wanna take a bath tonight.”  _

_ “No,” Holden says, crossing her tiny arms. “I’m clean.”  _

_ “Let’s stay that way,” April says with a smile. “Who wants dessert?”  _

_ Dessert is ice cream with hot fudge, which also happens to be both mine and Holden’s favorite.  _

_ “It looks like we have a lot in common,” I say to the little girl. I haven’t spent a lot of time around kids, so I’m not really sure how to act. I hope that gets easier.  _

_ “Yeah,” she says. Now, instead of marinara sauce, she has hot fudge all over her face. But this time, it’s not on purpose. _

_ “How about your favorite movies?” April says. “What if they’re the same, too?”  _

_ “I like Wee-oh,” Holden says, spoon in her mouth. _

_ I furrow my eyebrows, trying to figure out what she said. “Wee-oh?” I ask.  _

_ “No, Wee-oh,” she says, louder.  _

_ April stifles a giggle. “Rio,” she tells me.  _

_ “Oh…” I say. “I’ve never seen that.”  _

_ “It has a bird. He can’t fly and he’s blue.”  _

_ “My favorite movie is probably Coraline,” I say. I saw it a few years ago because it was playing on TV. I don’t remember much, but it’s the only kid movie I can think of.  _

_ “No, scary!” Holden says, covering her eyes. “That one’s too scary.”  _

_ “I’m sure Rio is way better,” I say.  _

_ “It is,” she says, peeking out from between her fingers. There’s hot fudge on her forehead now.  _

_ A little while later, after we clear the table, April picks Holden up from behind as she sneaks a fingerful of hot fudge. “Time for little mermaids to go to bed,” April says, kissing her daughter’s sticky cheek.  _

_ “No…” Holden says, wrapping her arms around April’s neck as she turns to face her. “I’m staying up late with you guys.”  _

_ “Nah, me and Jackson are no fun,” April says, winking at me while Holden isn’t looking. I wonder what to make of that.  _

_ “Why?” Holden asks.  _

_ “You’ll be bored. We’re gonna talk about grown-up things.”  _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Because that’s what grown-ups like to talk about.”  _

_ “Why?”  _

_ “Holden,” April warns.  _

_ “I’m Ariel, Mommy.”  _

_ “Alright,” she says, hoisting the little girl a bit higher. “Ariel is going up to bed. Say goodnight to Jackson, babe.”  _

_ “No!” Holden says, crying against April’s shoulder.  _

_ I wait downstairs while April puts her to bed, listening to the soft rises and falls of their voices as they converse. When April comes back down, she smiles and lets out a long sigh.  _

_ “Sorry. She’s not used to having people over. She acts up sometimes.”  _

_ “She was fine,” I say. “I like her.”  _

_ “She likes you, too. I swear, you were all she talked about after the reunion. It was like she was the one who hadn’t seen you in years. She’s just as in love with you as I am.”  _

_ I freeze where I stand. My thoughts freeze too. “I… you’re…?”  _

_ “I might as well just admit it,” she says. “When I saw you, it was all over. I’ve just been hoping that you feel the same, otherwise I look pretty stupid right now.”  _

_ “No, I… I do,” I say, unable to control my grin. “Hell yeah, I do.”  _

_ “Oh, thank god,” she says. And from that moment on, it’s history.  _

…

I wake up in the morning with Sailor still on my chest, and she opens her eyes about the same time I do. “Hey, babe,” I say. “You stinky?” 

The smell wafting around the room gives me the answer I need, so I heave my body up from the couch and bring Sailor upstairs. I get her into a new diaper and a little pink outfit, then peek inside the master bedroom in hopes of finding April. Little one needs her breakfast. 

But April isn’t there. The sheets are messy, but the bed is empty. “Huh,” I say out loud, and Sailor gets fussy. She’s hungry, and I am too. “Let’s look downstairs.” 

I hadn’t seen her in the kitchen when I passed by, but I’m not known for my observation skills. I peek my head in, but she’s not there. Not in the living room, not in the dining room. I call her name down the basement stairs only to get nothing in return.

I even pop my head into Holden’s room, but I only see her in bed, sleeping like a rock. 

I can’t ignore the ember of nerves lighting up my gut. I check everywhere that I already checked again, but find nothing. The car is still in the garage, all the bikes are there - not that I think she’d go biking while recovering from a C-section, but still. 

I’m about to call her phone when I look through the back slider to see April sitting in the backyard. On the grass, legs crossed, hunched over. Relief floods my system as I hurry to the door and yank it open. “Baby!” I shout. 

She doesn’t turn. I squint to see her a little better, wondering if she’s asleep. She’s not a sleepwalker, but there’s a first time for everything. 

“April?” 

Still no response. 

With the fussy baby in tow, I tromp through the unmown grass until I reach her. She’s concentrating hard on her phone screen, typing madly with both hands as her hair acts as a curtain around her face.

“Morning, babe,” I say, nudging her thigh with my foot. 

She gasps and looks up, one hand to her heart. “Oh, my god, you scared me!” she breathes. 

“Sorry,” I say. “I said your name from the porch.” 

“I didn’t hear.” 

“What’re you looking at?” I ask. 

She glances down at her hands. “Just… my phone,” she says. 

“Why so far out in the yard?” 

“Bad service everywhere else,” she says. 

“Alright…” I say, dubious. “Well, the baby’s hungry. You wanna feed her real quick?” 

Her eyes dart to her phone, then back to me. “Can you?” she asks. “I’ll do the second round. I just… I’m in the middle of something right now.” 

“Yeah… sure,” I say, still wary. “Don’t stay out here too long, okay? You’ll get a sunburn.” 

“Uh-huh,” she says, then buries her face in her phone again. 

I try not to worry as I head back inside. She seemed fine and normal; we had a halfway-decent conversation. So what, she’s caught up in her phone. Everyone gets like that sometimes. And service does suck in the house. I decide to let it go and let her be. 

I feed Sailor and we watch a pre-recorded basketball game on TV until Holden gets up. I hear her feet on the steps before she appears, so I call out, “Hey!” 

She doesn’t respond right away, but when she reaches the bottom step, she gives me a little nod and an awkward smile. She’s carrying her laundry basket, but puts it behind her - close to the basement door - when she sees me. 

“Hey.” 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she says. “Is the washer working?” 

“No, not yet,” I say. “But we can run to the laundromat a little later, if you want. I’ve got some clothes that-” 

“No,” she says quickly. “That’s okay. It can wait.” 

“Alright,” I say, watching her bring the hamper back upstairs. When she comes down again, I ask, “You sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah,” she says, then heads into the kitchen. 

“I can make waffles,” I call out, but I’m met with silence.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, the only sound being the squeak of shoes and the ref’s whistle coming from the TV. Then, Holden reappears in the living room with shiny, wet cheeks. She’s crying. 

“Boo, what’s wrong?” I ask, walking over to her. She covers her face and shakes her head, sniffling loudly as she does. “What is it? You wanna sit down?” 

“I can’t,” she hiccups. 

“You can’t sit?” I say, confused. 

She shakes her head again, letting her hair fall into her face. She swallows hard, crosses her arms, and refuses to meet my eyes. 

“Want me to get Mom?” 

“No,” she says. “I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna stress her out.” 

“It won’t,” I say, though I’m not sure I believe that. “She’s…” 

“It will. Just… can you help me?” 

“Of course,” I say. “Just tell me how.” 

She blinks hard and shuffles in place, her socks slipping softly on the hardwood. “I got my period,” she says softly, barely moving her lips. 

“Oh,” I say. This is her first period. April has given her the talk before, but I don’t think this was on either of their minds yet. 

She covers her face again, both hands pressed to her cheeks, and whimpers. “Yeah.”

“Holds, your mom really wouldn’t mind-” 

“I don’t want to tell her,” she says, uncovering her eyes. “I just don’t want to. Okay? Not right now. I just… I don’t want to.” 

Something tells me Holden didn’t easily brush off what happened last night, and that’s okay. But still, I wish she had someone more qualified than me to help her through this. I’ll do the best I can, I just can’t promise how good that will be. 

“Alright,” I say. “Do you have pads, or tampons?” 

“Pads,” she mutters. “Up in the bathroom. I don’t wanna use tampons.” 

“Okay,” I say. “How about we go up there… and I’ll stand outside the door to walk you through it?” 

I’ve seen April put on enough pads in the time she and I have been together. It’s not rocket science. I can do this. I can help my daughter through her first period. 

“‘Kay,” Holden grumbles, then motions for me to lead the way up the stairs. I feel like that must be because there’s a stain on her pants, but I don’t call attention to it. 

Without her having to ask, I grab a pair of sweatpants from her room and toss them inside the bathroom after she goes in. 

“Okay, you got one out?” I ask. 

“Yeah.” 

“So… what I know is that you unwrap the plastic part and throw it away. If you were taking off a used pad, that’s what you could use to wrap it in. You know?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” she says, and I hear the wrapper crinkling. 

“But since you don’t, you can just throw it away,” I say, adjusting Sailor in my arms. “And take off the little piece of paper that holds the wings together. You see it?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Take that off, throw it away too. And then you put the pad in your underwear, sticky side down, and tuck the wings under so they kind of have a place to hold on. Make sense?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright,” I say. “That’s it. That should do it.” 

I hear the toilet flushing, the faucet running, then she opens the door with her dirty pajama bottoms crumpled in her hands. “Thanks,” she says, and her cheeks are beet red. 

“No problem,” I say. “I think you should change it about once every four hours. Or whatever feels right to you.” 

“Alright,” Holden says, then touches Sailor’s little hand. “Can we be done talking about this now?” 

I smile and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in to kiss her head. “Sure,” I say. “Let’s go downstairs. Those waffles be calling.” 

**APRIL**

I’ve been doing research in the only place I get service long before anyone else in the house is up. I slept soundly last night, which is good, but I woke up with an idea that I can’t ignore. 

There is something in this house. There has to be. It’s the only explanation as to why I feel so watched, and the reasoning behind things happening that I can’t explain. Something wants to hurt me, hurt Sailor, or hurt this entire family. 

So, I’ve spent the morning researching demons. I spent a long time going through names and reading what each demon is known to do, until I found one that fits my situation perfectly. 

Lamia. A harmful spirit who kills infants and seduces sleeping men. 

She’s been known to split open pregnant women to devour the fetus inside, and that’s exactly how Sailor was born. An emergency C-section. I had planned to deliver her vaginally; I hadn’t wanted to be sliced open. But in the end, it wasn’t my choice. 

Harm will come to Sailor. Lamia has already grabbed her once, and injured me, too. Maybe to get to Jackson? I’m not sure. I have to do more research, but all I know is that I can’t stay out here in the yard while my family stays oblivious. They have to know. We have to be prepared.We should call a priest. Someone has to know how to battle this force that apparently only I’m aware of. 

I get up from the grass and debate with myself on the way inside. Will Jackson believe me? Will I sound crazy if I start spouting off demon lore? I have no idea. Is keeping this to myself just as dangerous as letting it free? I have no idea what to do. 

I push open the slider and set my phone on the dining room table. The scene inside looks pretty normal. Jackson is working on the warped floorboards, Holden is on the couch watching TV, and Sailor is lying on her back, kicking her legs on a blanket.

But then I see her. I see Lamia, who I’d just been researching, hovering over my baby. She’s bent in half, a disfigured shadow against the white wall, and if I could see her face I’m sure she’d be salivating. 

“Get away from her!” I scream, running past Jackson in order to snatch Sailor up off the ground. “Get the fuck away from my baby!” 

“Mom!” Holden shrieks, curling into herself. “What’s going on?!” 

“You didn’t see it?” I ask, wrapping both arms tightly around Sailor. I won’t let anything touch her. I’ve got her. Lamia wanted her, but I saved her. 

“April, what are you doing?” Jackson asks from the floor. “She was fine. We were both watching her.” 

“No,” I say, hurrying to the couch. I set the screaming Sailor on my legs to check her for bruises, marks, anything. I lift up her shirt to expose her soft little tummy, but I only find clear, untouched skin. There are no marks. Thank god there are no marks. I got to her in time.

“She was perfectly fine,” Jackson says. “She was just playing.” 

“She was being  _ watched _ !” I shout, gathering the baby up as I stand from the couch. “You won’t believe what I found. I know what’s going on. I know now. I have to show you.” I hurry into the dining room where I left my phone. “Come on!” 

Reluctantly, Jackson follows. He comes out of the living room slowly, beckoned by my hand. I pick up my phone from the table, where I’d set it face-down, only to be met with a shattered screen. So shattered, the phone won’t even turn on. 

“What the hell?” I ask, manically pressing buttons. “What the…” I start to breathe harder. “She doesn’t want you to know,” I say. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks. 

“She broke my phone so I couldn’t show you!” 

“April, who?” he asks. 

“Lamia,” I say softly. 

“Who…” His sentence drops off. “You know what, it’s fine. We can go into town and get you a new one. We’re due for an upgrade anyway.”

“Jackson, that’s not the point. I have to show you what I found.” 

“You need a phone,” he says. “I wanna see what you’re talking about. I do.” 

“You don’t believe me,” I say, gripping the phone tight with my free hand. “I can tell. You don’t!” 

“I don’t know what to believe, April. When you come in here on a rampage, grabbing the baby and shouting names I’ve never heard before, what am I supposed to think? I’m trying to be here for you. What I can do right now is take us into town to get you a new phone. That’s what I can fix.” 

I exhale and center myself as he tries to placate me. I can’t help but allow it to work. He’s always been a calming force.

“Fine,” I say. 

“I think it’s about time that Holden gets one, too,” he says.

I frown and ask, “Why?” 

He takes my wrist softly and ducks his head close to mine. “She got her period today. I think it’s time that she gets one. She deserves it.”

Stunned, I take a step back. “Wait, what?” I say. “She got her…?” 

“Yeah,” Jackson says. 

“And she told you, not me?” 

“She didn’t…” 

Suddenly, Holden appears and she’s crying. It seems that’s the only way I’ve seen her lately. “Why did you tell her?” she asks Jackson. 

“Honey, she had to know.” 

“Why didn’t you want him to tell me?” I ask, growing upset. 

“I just didn’t, okay?” she snaps. 

“I’m your mom, Holden. I’m always here to help you.”

“But you’re not!” she says, not bothering to wipe her tears. “You weren’t here. I needed help, and Jackson helped me. You weren’t even in the house. Why would I come to you when you’re acting crazy, sitting out in the grass researching demons? What do you expect, Mom?” 

With that, she storms up the stairs. Sailor starts to cry. Jackson’s shoulders crumple with defeat. 

They think I’m insane when all I’m trying to do is save them. 


	6. Chapter 6

**APRIL**

In a huff, I stomp up the stairs and head to the bathroom. I don’t have the energy to take a shower, so I dig through a box to find dry shampoo, then spray it through my roots until I get the desired effect. I can hear Jackson talking to Holden and Sailor downstairs, and just the sound of their voices makes me bristle. 

Why would Holden go to Jackson about her first period? I know they’re getting closer, but I’m her mom. What other twelve-year-old would rather talk to her step-dad about puberty? She claimed that it’s because I’m not present, but present is all I am. I’m trying to keep this household safe, yet she and Jackson keep looking at me like I’ve gone off the deep end. 

I don’t get it. If they’d just take a second to listen, we could all get on the same page. I don’t like being regarded as crazy. I’ve never felt so ignored - even though I don’t think that’s what they’re trying to do. I have no idea. I can’t help but feel that they’re creating a united force against me, though, and I don’t like that. 

All the dry shampoo does is piss me off, so I brush my hair into a ponytail and call it good. My skin looks pallid and dull, but I have no idea where my stash of makeup is, so I just splash water on my cheeks. 

When I lift up from the sink, I’m afraid to look in the mirror. I close my eyes after patting my face dry and turn around before I catch a glimpse of my reflection. Something’s in this bathroom with me - well, not something.  _ Lamia _ is in this bathroom with me, and I don’t want to see her face in that mirror. So, I don’t look. 

We don’t have the wifi set up, so even if I knew where my laptop was, I couldn’t show Jackson what I found. I could verbally tell him, but the track record of him believing me isn’t exactly great. I don’t want to risk being institutionalized, or something equally as awful. I already can’t stand the way Holden looks at me. I just need some proof, so that what I’m saying can be legitimized. A new phone will give me that.

I change my clothes, carefully pulling on a loose shirt so I don’t aggravate the open wounds on my body - the front or the back. 

As I’m rifling through my leggings - I’m still not confident enough to try on jeans - a horrible smell permeates the room. It forces me upright, then I stagger backwards with the power of the stench.

“Good god,” I say, one hand covering my nose and mouth. 

My eyes start to water, and I swear I can taste it. It’s not a common smell, but if I had to put a name to it, it would be something close to rotting meat. Something dead. Festering. 

I get dressed as fast as I can and hurry down the stairs. “There’s something dead up there,” I say, waving the air in front of my nose. 

Jackson instantly stands up from the couch. “What?” he says. 

“Upstairs,” I say, blinking hard to dry my eyes. “I smelled something awful in our bedroom.” 

“Oh,” he says. “You didn’t see anything?” 

“No,” I say. “But I’m telling you, I smelled it.” 

“It’s probably the pipes,” he says, grabbing the keys and his wallet. “I was messing around with the floorboards this morning. I probably knocked something.” He flicks the kitchen light off and beckons Holden to follow. “I’ll check it out when we get back.” 

His explanation makes sense, I can’t deny that. So, I don’t fight it. I follow my husband to the car, walking alongside my daughter, and insist that I be the one to get Sailor situated. 

“I can do it,” I tell Jackson. “I got her.” 

Reluctantly, he climbs into the driver’s seat and Holden takes her place next to Sailor. As I clip the baby into her car seat, I subtly check her for marks - bruises, cuts, scrapes of any kind - but there’s nothing. I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. 

“Alright,” I say, getting into the passenger’s seat. “I’m ready.” 

…

On the car ride home, Holden is more excited than I’ve seen her in months. Half of me is happy to see her like this, but the other half is frustrated with Jackson for making this decision over my head. Just days ago, I had nixed her request for a phone, and now she’s in the backseat with her face buried in a screen. 

I don’t say anything, though, because she’s happy. And happy is something she hasn’t been since we moved in, and I don’t want to ruin the moment. 

I’m glad that I have a working phone again, but I don’t care about the model or the color or anything like that. All I care is that it has Google, and that I can show Jackson what I meant to show him earlier. 

When we get home, I keep the phone clutched in my hand. I don’t set it down, because I don’t want Lamia destroying it again. I know she will, if she gets the chance. So, I have to stay one step ahead. 

“JJ,” I say, slipping my shoes off by the door. “Will you come upstairs with me?” 

I have Sailor cradled near my chest, and she’s fussy. She’s hungry, and I’m tired, which means the king sized bed is calling my name. But I have to get Jackson caught up to speed first. 

“Sure,” he says. 

“Holden,” I say. “You can have unlimited time on the phone today because it’s your first day with it. But after this, we’re gonna have some rules. Alright?” 

“Yeah,” she says, but barely hears me. She’s lying on the couch, resting on her stomach with her feet in the air, in her own world. At least she’s smiling, though. 

I lead the way up the stairs, and about halfway to the top, Jackson takes my hips in his hands. It makes me smile, that small gesture, because it’s a reminder that I’m still me. I’m his wife, and he still sees me like he used to. I hadn’t realized how much I missed his hands. 

While I get in a comfortable position to breastfeed Sailor, Jackson sits on the edge of the bed. Once the baby is situated and eating happily, I pull out my new phone and try to click it to life, but the screen stays black. 

“No,” I say, madly pressing buttons. “It happened again.” 

“What?”

“She broke my phone,” I say, near tears. “Right when I was gonna show you… she doesn’t want you to know.” 

“Here,” he says, and gently takes it. He holds down the power button on the side and the screen comes to life, flashing a bright white background with a black apple in the middle. 

“Oh,” I say. 

“Just breathe, baby,” he says, looking at me with soft eyes. “I’m worried about you.” 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say absentmindedly, typing into Google’s search bar with one thumb as the other hand supports the baby. “There are other…” I inhale deeply and almost choke because of it - the smell is back. 

“April!” Jackson exclaims. 

“God,” I say, squinting with one hand under my nose. “That’s it! That’s the smell.” 

He looks around, wearing a confused expression. “What smell?” 

“That!” I say, removing my hand only to wave it around my head. “You don’t smell that?” 

He takes another deep breath. “No,” he says. “There’s no smell.” 

“Holy shit,” I say, breathing through my mouth to try and quell it. “Your nose must be blocked. I don’t know how you can’t smell that.” 

“My nose is fine,” he says, eyeing me. “What was it you wanted to show me?” 

Trying to forget about the awful stench, I pick up my phone again and go to the search results. Right at the top is the link I found earlier, containing everything Jackson needs to know. 

“Okay, listen,” I say, brightening the screen. “Lamia are harmful spirits who killed infants and seduced sleeping men. One myth tells that the original Lamia was a beautiful queen of Libya, daughter of Belus and Libya, who won Zeus’ heart. Hera became jealous of this union and retaliated by killing all her children who were fathered by Zeus. In anger and frustration, Lamia retreated to a cave where she unleashed her wrath by killing the offspring of human mothers, usually by sucking the blood of the children.” 

I widen my eyes in his direction, then flash him the screen of the phone. I want him to get it, I want him to understand the gravity of this just as much as I do. I don’t want him to be scared, but I want him to realize that I’m not messing around. Lamia sure isn’t messing around. 

“She splits open pregnant women to devour the children developing inside. Her name is derived from lamias, the evil female demons with dragon heads at the end of their feet found in deserts. They are also known to haunt cemeteries, devouring the corpses and leaving nothing but bones.” 

I plop the phone onto his lap and wait for a reaction. He doesn’t pick it up, though - he barely even looks at it. 

“Well?” I say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters. 

“I want… I don’t know, I want you to see what I’m seeing!” I say, and the volume of my voice makes the baby jump. I lay a hand on her side to calm her. “It all makes too much sense. Splitting open a pregnant woman? Jackson. I never wanted that C-section. It wasn’t supposed to happen.” 

He gives me a weird look. “A lot of women have to get C-sections, April.” 

I sigh in exasperation. “Yes, I know,” I say. “But not all of them experience the weird shit we’re experiencing.”

“Baby,” he says - but his voice is too gentle. I know I’m not going to like whatever comes out of his mouth next. “So far, it’s only you who’s experienced anything. What if-” 

“Then how do you explain Sailor in the middle of the floor? Or face-down in the corner of her crib? Or the cuts on my back? I’d like an explanation for all of that, Jackson. I’d like to know how I made that all of  _ that  _ up.” 

“I’m not saying you made it up,” he says. “All I’m saying is that your body needs time to even out. Postpartum is a common-” 

“This isn’t PPD,” I say. “It’s not. I know how that feels. I had it with Holden. And this is  _ not _ that.” I look at him desperately, eyes wide. “Why don’t you believe me?” 

“I want to,” he says. “But… it’s a reach. It just is. Lamia? I’ve never heard that name in my life. Even in the explanation, honey, it says that she’s a myth. A Greek myth.” 

“No,” I say. “That’s the Greek interpretation. She’s a spirit, Jackson. She wants Sailor, and she wants you.” 

“Wants  _ me _ ?” 

“Yes!” I say. “Didn’t you hear when I said she seduces sleeping men?” 

He shakes his head and lets out a snort. “I think I’d remember being seduced,” he says. 

My face flames red with anger. “Whatever, Jackson,” I spit, then gesture towards Sailor. “Can you take her, please? I’m taking a nap.” 

Surprised by my abruptness, he raises his eyebrows and flinches away. He does take the baby, though. 

“April, it’s not that I want to invalidate what you’re-” 

“It’s fine,” I say, turning onto my side. “Talk to you when I get up.” 

…

I don’t like how deeply I’ve been sleeping lately. When Holden was little, what I did when I closed my eyes barely counted as being asleep. I would wake up at the drop of a pin.

But this is different. Now, when my head hits the pillow, it’s not like I’m sleeping. It’s like I’m dead. And I have nightmares every single time. 

Sometimes, I know I’m asleep. I can tell that what I’m seeing isn’t real, but I still can’t wake up. This time, it’s not like that. It’s real; it’s  _ too _ real. 

I see myself lying in bed; I’m hovering above my body. I see my face, the bags under my eyes, the tiny birthmark between my eyebrows. I recognize my face as my own, but I don’t understand why I’m looking at it. If I’m looking at me, whose eyes am I watching myself from?

When I blink, the perspective shifts. I open my eyes and I’m me again, lying in bed where I fell asleep. But I’m not alone.

There’s someone - something - watching me. Her shoulders are curved in, her hands are bony and gnarled, and her breath comes raggedly. Her hair hangs in sheets on either side of her face - it’s a fiery, knotted red. Her eyes are an eerie green. 

As my vision comes into focus, I realize that I’m looking at a warped version of myself. 

I try to move, try to get away, but I can’t move. I’m frozen in place, staring at the monstrosity that’s staring back at me. She breathes heavily, her breath smelling like death itself. Decay. Rot. Like something that was never alive. 

The expression on her - my - face is filled with utter disgust. Her lip raised and teeth bared, she hates me for everything I am. I’ve never felt so threatened, so primally afraid in my life. And I hate her as much as she hates me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I still can’t move. All I’m able to do is watch and wait. 

“ _ Sus vobis _ ,” she spits. 

Saliva flies onto my face, into my eyes, onto my cheeks. I don’t move to wipe it away. I can’t. 

“ _ Stultus meretrix _ ,” she says, foul teeth bared. They’re tinged brown, jagged at the bottom. Some are broken, so sharp they could be fangs. 

I don’t know what she’s saying, or what language she’s saying it in. But I can tell that it’s bad, and I have reason to be afraid. 

She laughs, loud and brittle and offensive. “ _ Tu spem confugisse me insimulat _ .” She gets in my face, so close that I see where her skin sags, where her veins pulse and show through. “ _ Puer ad me pertinet. Hominem pertinet mihi _ ,” she screams. “ _ Et super ea nihil potestis facere. Nihil _ .”

Finally, I find my voice. “Get away from me,” I whimper. I wanted it to come out as a scream, but that doesn’t happen. My voice is so quiet, I barely hear myself. 

To retaliate, she leaps on top of me, her body much heavier than it looks. She’s so heavy that I can’t breathe, can’t move, I can’t feel anything but her malformed, stinking form crushing my own. 

She yanks my head to one side so my neck is taut, then bites me. I feel every single one of her teeth pierce my skin, sinking in so far that she must draw blood. I try and scream, but no sound comes. 

“ _ Vos mos adepto violare in inferno _ ,” she grunts, and droplets of my blood smack me in the face as they fly off her lips. “ _ Post i alioquin interficiemus te _ .” 

And then I wake up. 

Alone. 

No demon that looks just like me hovering above the bed.

But my neck hurts - it aches and creaks when I move it. I raise one hand to touch the spot where my shoulder curves upwards, and I feel wetness there.

I feel the shape of teeth imprints. It’s a bite mark. Still fresh. 

Instantly, I break out in a cool sweat. I get out of bed as fast as my injuries will allow and rush to the mirror, where I move hair away from my shoulder to see the wound more clearly. 

And there it is, two rows of teeth in the shape of a jaw, clamped on the slope between my shoulder and neck. The proof is right there in front of me, throbbing. 

But I cover it. As quickly as I had bared it, I hide it again. I can’t let Jackson see; he’ll only think I’ve gone crazier. This is something I have to handle on my own. 

I crawl back into bed, having not heard anything from the baby monitor, and open the drawer of the nightstand in search of my bible. I’ve had the same one since high school - leatherbound and monogrammed, a gift from my parents. But I don’t feel it lying there. 

I prop myself up on an elbow, trying to look better. I know for a fact it was in this drawer yesterday; I placed it there myself. I leafed through a few pages and bookmarked verses I wanted to read to Sailor. That was real. It happened. It was tangible, and I remember it clearly. I didn’t make it up. I am not going crazy. 

Lamia took my bible. 

So, I do the next best thing I can think of. I close my eyes so tight that I see stars, and recite a few verses from memory. 

Except, I can’t. 

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will…” I trail off, reaching a mental block. “I will fear no…” 

Blank. My brain is blank. I don’t know the words that come next - and I’ve been reciting that verse since I was old enough to string a sentence together. 

“Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace…” I begin, then open my eyes to stare at a far spot on the wall. “We have peace with God through…” 

I don’t know the rest. I can’t remember.

“The steadfast love of the Lord…” 

These verses used to come to me as easily as breathing. The fact that I can’t say them now is not only disturbing, but profoundly sad. 

What is happening to me?

**JACKSON**

After April lies down for a nap, I come downstairs after deciding not to put Sailor in her crib. It doesn’t feel right being far away from her. But she does need to sleep, so I tie the sling on my chest and situate her inside it, and she soon melds her little body close to mine and drifts off. 

I can’t stop thinking about what April showed me, that stuff about a demon named Lamia. Or some Greek god, or something, I can’t quite figure it out. But the look on her face was so sure, so adamant, that she had found the right answer. I felt bad denying her, but it had to be done. There’s no demon in the house, Sailor isn’t in any danger. Not supernatural danger, at least. 

What sticks out is April saying that she experienced postpartum depression after Holden was born. She’s never talked about that before, and I thought I knew everything about her. So, it strikes me as odd. How come I didn’t know? How come she didn’t tell me? It doesn’t seem like something she’d feel forced to hide. There’s no shame in depression. 

It makes me think that’s what she’s experiencing now. I’m no psychologist - just an eye doctor - but I’ve read enough postpartum literature to know that it’s no joke. Upset levels of hormones can make new mothers do things they would’ve never dreamt of doing before, things that don’t seem logical or sane to anyone else but the mothers themselves. 

That description fits April to a T. But how am I expected to bring that up when she’s convinced there’s a demon haunting this house, haunting her, and our baby? I have no idea. 

I make lunch for myself and Holden, calling her to the table once it’s ready. She hasn’t put her phone down all day, and I’m glad to see her so entertained and happy. But I’d also like to see her face without a screen in front of it. 

So, after lunch, I suggest we go outside - without the phone - and she begrudgingly agrees. 

I sit with Sailor in the grass, thankful she’s still asleep. In the sling, against my heartbeat, seems to be her favorite spot so far. This is the calmest I’ve ever seen her. 

“I’m gonna show you my back tuck,” Holden says, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Alright,” I say, one hand on the baby’s back. “Be careful.” 

Holden was involved in gymnastics at a studio where we used to live. I don’t know if April has thought about getting her signed up for something here, but we should look into it. It’s something she really enjoys. 

“I don’t have to be careful,” she says. “I’m just that good.”

“Alright, Simone Biles.” 

“Well, not  _ that _ good,” she says with a giggle. “Just watch!” 

I watch her do a back tuck, or what she claims is a back tuck - I wouldn’t know any better if she did a triple flip with a spin.

“Sweet!” I say. 

“You try now,” she says, pushing red hair out of her face. 

“No way,” I say, laughing. “You wanna see your old man bust his ass?” 

“You won’t,” she says. “How about I teach you how to do a cartwheel?” 

“Nah,” I say, waving her off. “You just wanna see me look foolish.” 

“You’re already a fool,” she says, hands on her hips. “What’s a cartwheel gonna change?” 

“Wow!” I say, mouth open. This is how April used to razz me, before all this shit started going down. “I see how it is. From my own daughter.” 

Me saying that makes her take pause, smiling at me with shiny eyes. “Well, maybe if my  _ dad _ weren’t such a wuss, I wouldn’t make fun of him.” 

“Alright, alright, enough with the abuse,” I say, shaking my head. “Take the baby. Careful, careful.” I slip Sailor out of the sling and lower her into Holden’s arms, and she steps back to give me some room. 

“Okay, I’ll walk you through it,” she says, swaying back and forth to soothe her sister. “Start off with your feet in a lunge position. You know how to do that.” 

“Yup,” I say, following the directions. 

“Then bend over and put your hands on the ground,” she says, and I do. “And then kick your feet over your head one at a time. Over your head!” 

I try, but it doesn’t exactly work. I spring up a little bit and land in a frog position, which makes Holden roll her eyes and snort. 

“Okay, no,” she says. “Do it again. Stand in a lunge, then put your hands on the ground.”

“You’re so wrong for this,” I grumble.

Before I can react, I feel Holden’s foot on my butt, and she kicks me playfully forward so I do a roll and land on my side. 

“Hey!” I say, laughing from the ground. “Are you trying to wound me?” 

She’s laughing so hard that she can’t catch her breath, and her face is all red. It’s nice to see her this carefree, and it makes me happy when she plops onto the grass next to me. 

“You should’ve seen yourself roll,” she gasps, one hand to her chest. Sailor stirs a little, but is ultimately unbothered. 

“You’re sick,” I tell her, nudging her shoulder with mine. “Sick in the head. You got a mean streak.” 

She hands me the baby and then flops onto her back, eyes directed towards the sky. She lets out a long gust of air, still recovering from the laughing fit, and rests one hand on her ribcage that’s rising and falling. 

“What happened with Mom earlier?” she asks. “When she yanked Sailor off the floor.” 

My gut sinks with the onset of this subject. It’s not that I don’t want Holden to talk about it, but it was nice to pretend that everything was normal for a second. 

“She thought she saw something,” Holden continues. “I heard her say that Sailor was being watched. But I didn’t see anything, and I was sitting right there.” 

I sigh. “That’s because…” I begin. “Well, I’m pretty sure nothing  _ was _ there.” 

“But she sounded so sure.” 

“I know,” I say. 

“And she’s scared of something, but I don’t know what. And it scares me, because… I don’t know. Mom never used to get scared. And now she’s acting like a totally different person.” 

I debate talking about this Lamia character with Holden, but decide against it. She doesn’t need that on her mind, and I don’t want to cloud her thoughts with the demonic. It’s not right. It would defeat the purpose of trying to rid this house of all that. 

“I’m gonna try to get her to see a doctor,” I say. “I think she needs some help.” 

Holden looks at me with wide eyes. “You want to put her in a psych ward?” 

“No,” I say quickly. “Not at all. I just think some meds would really help. Just to get her evened out again, back to the Mom that we know. You know?” 

“Yeah,” she says, throwing one arm over her eyes. “But like… I don’t know.” 

“What?” 

She takes a deep breath. “What if she’s right? What if there  _ is _ something here?” 

I watch Holden for a while without her knowing. She can’t see me through her arm. “Do you think that there is?” I ask. 

“I don’t know,” she responds quickly. “But Mom wouldn’t make this up. At least, I don’t think she would. And isn’t giving someone pills when they don’t need them, isn’t that bad?” 

“It could be.” 

“I just want her back,” Holden says quietly.

I reach over and pat her shin a couple times, then close my eyes against the sun. “Me, too,” I say. 

…

That night, when I climb into bed beside April, I don’t have the baby with me. I wanted some alone time, just me and her, so we could reconnect. That’s not exactly possible with Sailor in the room. 

When me and April used to be on two different pages, we’d come back together with sex. It was how we worked. We’d communicate afterwards, our brains on the same frequency, and everything would feel more at peace. I know we can’t have sex yet, being that she’s still healing from her incision, but I’m hoping we can at least make out for a little while.

She’s lying on her side, faced away from me, so I scoot in close behind her. I wrap one arm around her middle - careful to stay above the scar - and rub her skin slowly, just how she likes. I kiss the back of her bare shoulder, dragging my tongue over her skin and pulling the strap of her nightgown out of the way with my teeth. 

“I miss you, baby,” I mutter against her shoulder blade. 

“Hmm,” she hums, and I wish I could see her better in the dark. I don’t want to ruin the mood, though, so I don’t waste time in reaching to turn the light on. 

“You feel so good,” I say, running one hand down her side and over the swell of her hip. I trail my fingernails up and down her thigh, stroking her leg for a while before moving to grab her ass. “I just wanna… mmm…” 

I kiss her ribcage over the nightgown, then slip a hand under the skirt. I play with the waistband of her underwear - they’re not sexy by any definition, but the thought of her undergarments gets me hard all the same. That’s the power she has over me. 

I move her hair away from her neck and press my lips below her ear, ready to go lower and give her a few hickeys. But just as I’m about to move, she swats my chest with surprising force and flinches away, using her hair to cover up the spot where my lips had just been. 

“What?” I say, shocked. “What’s wrong? I thought you were into it.” 

“I don’t feel like it,” she says, pulling the covers up past her neck. I can barely see the top of her head now. 

“Alright,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push. I just missed you, and I thought you wanted it.” 

“You were wrong.” 

“Okay,” I say. I don’t want to breach her boundaries - that’s not right. But she gave me signals that were totally mixed. I was getting good reactions until she smacked me. I don’t understand. 

But it’s late anyway. I should just go to sleep. 

…

I wake up in the middle of the night to the feeling of hands on me. The room is quiet, dark, and cool - perfect sleeping conditions - and I had been dreaming. But I’m definitely not dreaming now, this is real, and I am so thankful. 

Thankful, but confused. 

“Babe…” I say groggily, my eyes barely coming open as April runs her hands over my bare chest, concentrating on my nipples before heading lower to the hair on my stomach. “Thought you didn’t wanna.” 

“I do,” she says, curled around me. She spoons me, her small body wrapped around my larger one, and she’s cool to the touch. “I want you.” 

She bites my neck softly, then licks my skin in slow circles. I’m already hard, and she knows it. She slips her hand inside my boxers and twines her fingers around my shaft, which makes me groan. It’s been so long, and that feels so good.

“Oh, yeah,” I grunt. “Mmm, baby.” 

“You like that,” she whispers, right into my ear. Her breath sends shockwaves up my spine and makes my whole body tingle, and her hand on my dick only makes things better. I haven’t felt this good in weeks. 

“Yes, holy fuck,” I say, flipping onto my back so she has better leverage. “Yes… thank you, baby.” 

“Mm-hmm,” she purrs, moving her hand faster and gripping me just the way I like. 

She drags it out just long enough, and when she lets me come, I do so all over. It’s actually kind of embarrassing how much she gets out of me, but all I can do is kiss her. I hold her face tight in both hands, squeezing her head and kissing her with all I’ve got until we both fall back to sleep amidst the mess we made. 

…

In the morning, April is awake and nursing Sailor when I open my eyes. 

“Hey, beautiful,” I say, stretching. 

“Hi.” 

I rub her arm up to her shoulder, but when I run my fingers through her hair and move it away from her neck, she shrugs me off. I try not to worry about it. She can sometimes be a grouch in the morning. 

“Thanks for last night,” I say, blinking slow and sated. “What made you change your mind?” 

She glances over, eyebrows low, before switching the breast that Sailor drinks from. “What?” she says. 

I frown in her direction. “The handjob you woke me up with, with your horny ass,” I say. “You didn’t want anything to do with sex before we fell asleep. Did you have a good dream, or something?” 

She shakes her head slowly. “No,” she says. “I didn’t dream at all. And I didn’t touch you last night. I woke up at 2 to take care of the baby, then I came back to bed. You were snoring.” 

I sit up, propped by both elbows. “Stop messing with me,” I say, trying to smile. 

“I’m not,” she says. “Maybe you dreamed it.” 

“No,” I say adamantly. “I didn’t. I can prove it. Look.” I hold up the sheet and show her how it’s dirty, hardened with semen - it’s gross, and it needs washing. But it’s still proof of what happened. 

“So, there’s jizz on the sheets. Maybe you had a wet dream, Jackson,” she snaps. “Looks like you finished. Lucky you.” 

“It wasn’t a dream!” I insist. “You gave me a handjob. You  _ talked _ to me.” 

She looks at me steadily, solemnly. There’s something in her eyes that I’ve never seen before when she says, “No. I didn’t, JJ. That wasn’t me.” 


End file.
